


Best-selling

by Anonymous



Series: smut stuff [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Sex, Alpha/Omega Dynamics (freeform), Chastity Device, Collars, Crotch Rope Walking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Discipline, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Forced Prostitution, Hermaphrodites, Lingerie, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, No beta we just die we just do it we die, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Possessive Behavior, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen (Via Drug Use), Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Submission, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wet & Messy, no alpha either except for me and im dumb as shit, now with plot!, omegas...sure, pussy slapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Arlot is excited to get off of his home planet and pursue a civilized job, thanks to an offer that seems too good to be true.Unfortunately for him, his presence is also a little too good to be true for the man who notices him in the streets, and decides to make a profit out of the innocent little farm boy.
Relationships: Original Alien Character(s)/Original Alien Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: smut stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704700
Comments: 34
Kudos: 273
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Landing

**Author's Note:**

> Neiviens look kinda like blue elves, with hermaphroditic traits. They're known for being skilled farmers.
> 
> \--
> 
> There's not a lot of sexy stuff that goes on until the second chapter, so you can skip the introduction if you want.
> 
> This is pretty bad.

The map isn't written in Unive.  
  
Arlot finds that out the hard way, squinting at the neon lines and the white-brick letters as if he'd be able to puzzle it out like that. No can do, and he sighs, and scoots out of the way so the grumpy Traxan behind him can scuttle up in front of the large sign.  
  
Maybe taking this job offer was a mistake, he reflected, as he looks gloomily around. At the time it had seem too good to be true-a immediate escape from the dull small-farmer life on his nowhere planet, and with promise of payment and lodging and access to big cities and high-transport planet systems. A place to put his actual knowledge and ability to good use, instead of wasting away calculating crop prices for the rest of his life.  
  
Well, he was expecting big city. Instead he was in big slums.  
  
As if to prove his point, something gurgles behind him, and he jumps out the way of a gigantic slug-like being, trailing slime and with far too many eyes peppering the folds of its body. Hardly anyone here was humanoid, and no one was Neivein. He couldn't see a single hint of the characteristic pale-blue skin, pail hair, or pointed, waving ears that were traditional Neivein traits, and it set him on edge. Everywhere he looked were tentacles, claws, pincers, and horns. All alien, and none familiar.  
  
He glances down at his wrist projector, the hologram flickering as he scrolls through his messages. The address the coordinator had given him blinked in and out of existence, and he quickly shut the entire projector off. If it ran out of charge, that was the end of it all, and he didn't know where he would be able to find a recharge booth. And he really wasn't in the mood to go cry into a public call box to his parents so they can send a transport shuttle to pick him up.  
  
He sighs. He may as well start asking around now, so he turns to the nearest being-a bulbous, hulking creature with drooling tusks-and hopes it knows Unive.

* * *

A half-Univian-hour later, he finds the front to a rather gaudy neon shop.  
  
It certainly matches up with the description the last stranger had given him with a giggle. And it's certainly much brighter than all the other street signs and buildings. He doesn't know why an accounting building would be so bright, but after so long of aimless wandering, he's not about to question the customs of this planet. He walks up to the front door, trying to peer through the frosted glass while simultaneously locating the Unive translation of the sign, among a large list of foreign languages engraved on the surface in glowing white.  
  
"Hello? Can I help you?"  
  
He jumps, spins around-and sees a human man standing behind him, with a strange scruff on his pale face and gray streaks in brown hair. A package floats unsteadily behind him on a transport pad.  
  
"You speak Unive?" Arlot asked, relieved. It was so long since he heard something that wasn't in a guttural accent that he was wondering if he'd ever hear that familiar language again, and the human didn't had a bad voice either. Handling all the turns and emphasis of the words smoothly, as if a native speaker.  
  
"Yes. Who are you?" The man asks, giving Arlot a curious once-over, and not for the first time the Neivien blushed. He knew he looked a little ridiculous, a large dark poncho hanging over his shoulders and ragged farming boots clinging to his thin legs.  
  
"Ah-I'm Arlot. Arlottive Ennien. I'm the new accounting assistant?" He clears his throat. "I'm, uh. Marlowe sent for me. Who are you?"  
  
The man thinks for a moment, then smiles and outstretches a hand. "Well, nice to meet you Arlot. I'm Marlowe."  
  
"Oh!" He stares back at the hand, unsure what to do, until Marlowe grins.  
  
"You shake it."  
  
"I-oh." Tentatively, he takes the human's hand, and inwardly recoils when he feels the slick of sweat against his palm. Immediately pulling away when Marlowe had let go and trying to discreetly wipe his hand against his poncho. Did humans really live in this state? "Well, ah. I'd already sent my resume, and your message said it was okay to buy the outfit on site-"  
  
"Come with me, will you Arlot?" Marlowe cuts him off, motioning him to the side and away from the door. Arlot blinks, and follows, confused until he sees the side door leading into the establishment, a buzzing light hanging above it attracting little insects. "Here, come on in. This is the employee entrance."  
  
The interior is...the first thing Arlot notices is the smell. Almost overpoweringly sweet, like heavy perfumes and chemical cleaners and underneath it all, something organic and filthy and making him gag. The lights here are all dim, in shades of pink and blue. He can see a humanoid woman, a Marrean with gently flowing tentacles sprouting off her head, walking in the direction of the entrance in what Arlot guesses are receptionist clothes, though they're oddly tight on her figure. She stinks the same as everything else.  
  
Marlowe nudges him and pulls his focus away from the woman. "Come on, I'll show you to where you should change."  
  
Arlot blinks, the haze already disorienting him. "Change?"  
  
"Into your outfit."  
  
"I haven't bought it ye-"  
  
"That's fine, you can wear a temporary one."  
  
"I haven't even found the employee apartments yet!" Things were moving so fast. Marlowe had said over the messages that he could start right away but even so...immediately?  
  
Marlowe hesitates for an instant, before continuing and leading Arlot down a hallway. "There are employee lodgings on site that you can stay in. The apartment building is currently...having some maintenance done." He stops at a door and pushes Arlot inside-there's nothing but a mirror and a small chest. The chamber is lit by a small glowing blue square that hovers above him. "Here-get undressed, you can leave your stuff in the box. I'll have someone bring you an outfit."  
  
"Wait-" But Marlowe had already left, the door sliding shut behind him. Arlot bit his tongue in frustration. Were all human's so pushy? But he needed this job, so he started to strip, feeling a bit of relief as the stuffy articles fell away and he could feel a cool breeze on his bare skin.  
  
By the time he had removed his tunic, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror. He was getting too thin, he noted with a frown. He was always a picky eater back home, and how he can see the evidence of that in the slenderness of his waist and arms. At least he didn't have any of the scars or knots of hard labor that other Neivien men had, though that could be attributed to his time spent more on a calculator and calculating pad then a harvester. He turns around, trying to see his back and quietly admiring the smoothness of it, the untouched pale blue lit up gently in the light.  
  
The door slides open again, and with a squeak Arlot brought his hands up to his chest in embarrassment as Marlowe steps in again, a bundle in his arms. "H-Hey!"  
  
"Relax. I've just brought your outfit." The man huffs, tossing Arlot the package and making him fumble. There's a strange look in his eye, and Arlot think he has carried the smell from the rest of the building into here. Some kind of unfamiliar bodily stench. "You don't have a single scar on you. I thought Neiviens were farmers known for their scars."  
  
Arlot doesn't need to look in the mirror to know he's blushing pale white. "Y-yeah, well. Most Neiviens also don't sign up to be accountants."  
  
"Hm." Marlowe looks him over again, then motions to the package. "Well? Get dressed."  
  
"...are you...just going to watch?"  
  
"Is that a problem?" Marlowe asks indifferently, looking bored. "A lot of people have problems with the straps and clasps. I'm here to help you put it on right, so hurry up."  
  
The nerve! Arlot glares at him, before quickly shucking off his trousers and shoes and shoving it into the crate. At least he didn't have to feel embarrassed around someone who didn't understand his physiology, his penis being neatly tucked away into its slit, so he didn't have to feel ashamed of size or girth. He tears open the package and shakes out the contents, then stops.  
  
"This is..."  
  
The outfit was just...straps. Criss-crossing strips of a shiny black fabric, slick and smooth against his hands and held together by silver rings. A pair of black underwear of the same material, with clasps to connect to the rest of the ensemble.  
  
"Well?" Marlowe crosses his arms. "Put it on."  
  
"This isn't a working outfit!" Arlot fumed. This had to be some ridiculous joke. "This is-this is a whore's dress!"  
  
"*This* is the kind of thing you'll be wearing if you intend to work here." Marlowe tilted his head, as if bored. "And you'll be interacting with people in similar states of dress."  
  
"This wasn't in the introductory letter!" Arlot throws the outfit down, and the rings clatter against the floor. "This is-I can't-I'm leaving!"  
  
He reaches for the chest, trying to thumb open the clasp-but it doesn't, the lock glowing red and beeping when he tries. He turns around, and Marlowe is closer now, too close. He could barely move in the space without brushing into him.  
  
"You-" whatever threat or insult Arlot had intended to say faded into a squeak, as one of Marlowe's fingers ran over his slit, applying just enough pressure to breach and brush against the underside of his cock. An alien, foreign feeling, of a roughened appendage touching him *there* of all places, made Arlot weak, his knees trembling and back hitting the wall.  
  
"You are staying," Marlowe says, and his voice is a low snarl like that of Indelv lions. His other hand reached and rested on Arlot's throat, applying enough pressure to be threatening, and he gulps. "And you will put on that 'whore's dress' whether you like it or not."  
  
Arlot's retort dies when the finger in his slit grows more insistent, another joining it and hooking around his slim cock, forcefully tugging it out into the cool air, where the warmth of the man's hands were painfully contrasted. Helplessly, his hips jerk, a weak whimper leaves his throat, and Marlowe's eyes flash. "After all, I think that outfit suits you."  
  
"N-no-"  
  
"Yes. Now, I'm going to count to ten, and you're going to be a good little whore and put on that outfit in front of me. Or I'll drag you out there naked." There's a good chance Marlowe will act on that threat, especially as his grip tightens momentarily on Arlot's cock and he yelps.  
  
When he pulls away, Arlot all but collapses, legs shaking too much to hold his weight. He looks up, and Marlowe looks down with cold eyes. "One..."  
  
He snatches the outfit from where he had dropped it.

* * *

It's not an easy task, putting it on-but Arlot thinks he manages it, even getting some of the buckles right before Marlowe reaches ten.  
  
It's tight on his body, belts digging uncomfortably into his flesh. The sticky fabric covers his nipples, making every shift and drag uncomfortable. The rings are cold and awkward.  
  
The last buckle is the ring that sits over the small of his back, connected to another long strap that dangles loosely down his backside. He can't reach it for the life of him, though he's terrified to ask Marlowe, who he knows is watching.  
  
Not that he needs to-the man steps forward, crowding Arlot to the wall again, and carefully secures the ring, tugging on the loose strap and jolting all the other strips in the process. "Is this snug?"  
  
Arlot doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, focusing on his hands and how they rest against the wall, trying to distract himself from the disgusting set he was wearing. Surely not culture called for accountants to dress like this. Part of him wanted to run away, another part wanted to hide in this room forever;  
  
Marlowe tuts, and Arlot jumps. "Tilt your head back. You forgot to secure one."  
  
He does, and he feels Marlowe loop something around his neck-and then pull.  
  
"Hhk-!"  
  
He gasps, as Marlowe tightens the strap. He tries pulling his head forward again, but finds he can't, not all the way without choking himself. It was like the bridle for a riding beast, keeping his head tilted slightly back to bare his throat.  
  
How humiliating.  
  
"Turn to face me. Let me see you." Marlowe commands, and Arlot is powerless to do anything but obey, turning slowly and refusing to meet the human's eyes. How they drag over his body with a greedy expression. "You look every bit the slut I identified you as."  
  
Arlot flushes and crosses his arms over his chest, but Marlowe grabs his wrists and wrenches them away. "That's exactly what you won't do when the customers come."  
  
"Customers!?"  
  
"Come on."  
  
He gets dragged by the arm out of the little room, and he's helpless against Marlowe regardless of how hard he struggles, as he's pulled down the candy-colored halls. Just once, he manages to sink fingernails into Marlowe's wrist and make him let go, and in turn Marlowe grabs him by the collar and drags him by that, making him choke and gasp.  
  
They reach a room full of blue and lavender cushions, and draped with silks of the same color. Marlowe shoves him to the floor, as he runs his hands along the wall, before coming up with silver chains with shackles. One of these was clipped to Arlot's collar, and the other to his wrist.  
  
"Now stay here," Marlowe says, and presses a kiss against Arlot's cheek, almost lovingly. "Your first customer will be in soon."


	2. Rex: Latin root word for "king"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fingering, man-handling, forced orgasm. All non-con. And then non-con vaginal sex, and a size difference

His first customer, as it turns out, is a human, that stinks of filth and sweat and stands as a broad as a tree.

Arlot glares at him when he enters through the silken curtains, arms crossed protectively over himself in an attempt to hide what he could. The chains jingle as he does so, mocking and loud in his ears.

The man chuckles as he looks down at Arlot, leering down through a thick beard of golden hair. "Ain't you a lovely thing?" He croons, his accent thick and low. He stoops low to caress a finger over Arlot's jaw-his hand is big enough that it could cover to whole of Arlot's face, if the man tried.

Arlot bites at him, teeth closing just shy of where the man pulls back. It doesn't dissuade him, and he snorts in amusement before bringing the hand down across Arlot's cheek in a harsh crack, sending him down onto the cushions with a cry.

"Now, that's no way to greet a customer, ain't it sweetheart?"

"I am _not_ your sweetheart," Arlot spits, cheek still stinging as he looks up to glare. "and I am _not_ going to serve you."

"Sure you are. I paid for you, didn't I?"

 _Marlowe._ Arlot was going to kill that skeeving human. "I am not here to serve your-your filthy needs! And I did not agree to any such transaction-"

"Alright, alright. Shut up." The man settles heavily onto the cushions and grabs Arlot by the ankle, dragging him onto his lap with hardly any effort at all. Before Arlot could so much as squeak in protest, the fine and sensitive hairs on the back of neck are grabbed in a coarse fist, forcing his head back and mouth open for the man to slip his tongue in.

He gags. The stranger tastes of kush smoke and grease and salt, and his tongue is slick and hot and invasive, probing at Arlot's gums and teeth like an unwanted parasite. His teeth clack messily against the stranger's, and he is revolted, squirming uselessly against the grip on his neck and slamming helpless fists against the man's barrel chest. When he is finally released, he gasps, sucking in air that feels tainted by the taste in his mouth.

The stranger laughs, and moves his hands to Arlot's hips, pulling them down against the stiffness in his crotch and grinding upwards, sliding his clothed cock against Arlot's genital slit through the thin fabric of the panties. "Mev wasn't kidding when he said you were virginal," He smirks, using teeth to nudge away one of the straps covering Arlot's nipple and mouthing at the sensitive bud. "Guess it'll be up to me to give you a good first time, huh?"

Arlot can hardly formulate a reply, all thoughts leaving him the moment he felt that teething, wet pressure against his nipple, unbearably hot and electrifying. He twists in the man's grip, unintentionally grinding down more. "I-I don't-"

"Quit saying you don't want this. I bet if I take off these pretty little things, I'll find you all wet and ready for me." The man tugs at the band of the underwear to make a point, letting it snap back against Arlot's skin before running his thumb against it, finding the awakening head of his cocklet through the cloth. "You're getting excited too, ain't you sweetheart?"

"S-sto-" He didn't know words anymore, the heat in his belly growing despite his horror. He can feel slick forming between his lips, slippery and warm and humiliating, true to the man's words. He squirms backwards, managing to fall out of the man's grip and onto the cushions, and begins scrambling away, using his arms to drag him. "Don't-!"

"I'm right, ain't I?" The man catches him easily, settling between his legs and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. Gods, he is infuriating. He is toying with Arlot like a Vine cat plays with prey, and the grin that never leaves his face is sign of that. With one hand, he shucks Arlot's panties down to his knees, and trails a finger slowly up the length of his slit, watching the Neivien squirm at the touch.

He raises his hand in front of Arlot's face, and even in the dim light, he can see the slick that shines on his finger, humiliating clear. The man smiles like a triumphant warrior, and that's all the warning Arlot gets before the hand returns to his crotch and buries thick fingers into his entrance, assisted by his own fluids.

Arlot gasps, the scream gone from his throat as the fingers waste no time in moving, exploring. Pumping in and out and rubbing at his sensitive walls, rough callouses and knuckles stretching him unevenly. The man is laughing distantly, and the fingers scissor, and Arlot cries out like a wounded animal.

He's never done anything of the like before, even when the others of his age were experimenting and finding mates, he was always too busy in his studies in work to care. He regrets this now-if he had done it when he could have, he wouldn't have had to be subject to the humiliation and shame of being violated here, on some distant slum planet by a foul human hooligan-

The pads of the man's fingers crook, pressing against some spot deep inside him and- _oh._

Arlot's back arches and his mouth falls open in a wail, the heat in him swelling like a wave that makes his legs go weak. The digits inside him don't stop, now prodding relentlessly at that one area, reducing Arlot to sobs. His hands scrabble at the man's shoulders, now more to find purchase than to push him away, eyes rolling back, _he's so close-_

"That's all right." Croons the stranger, rough beard scratching at his cheek, breath hot and wet in his ear. The man's thumb finds the throbbing head of Arlot's cock, pressing at it insistently, and at the same instant he massages his fingers down, once more, against that spot. "Come for me, sweetheart."

Arlot's world whites out.

When he comes to again he's distinctly aware that he's shaking, the bearded man still looming over him with a smug grin on his face. "Welcome back, sweetheart."

Arlot can't retort. He thinks that he's forgotten how to speak, and all that leaves his mouth is a faint whimper.

"That good, huh?" The man chuckles, and he places his hand on Arlot's belly and pushes it through the mess of come there- _his_ come, Arlot realizes with shock-and raises it to his mouth, tasting it. "I say, you Neiveins are as sweet as I've heard."

"Please," Arlot whined, voice trembling. He's not sure what he's saying please for, if he wants the man to leave or keep touching him. "Please..."

"Now, now, sweetheart. The fun's not over yet. It's my turn." Arlot hardly gets a moment to register what that means before he's being lifted by the waist, positioned directly over the man's throbbing and released erection, long and thickly veined.

He gets a moment of coherence. "No-it won't fit-" He gasps.

He is dropped and sinks down onto the man's cock in a single motion, and his scream is swallowed by the man's lips. It hurts-it hurts like a punch to the stomach that also burns like firewine, and Arlot is sobbing openly, tears falling down his cheeks.

The man reaches up and thumbs them away, smiling almost gently. _His eyes are blue_ , Arlot thinks. Neivein blue. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't break ya." Before lifting Arlot by the hips and slamming him down again.

* * *

This time Arlot doesn't get to come.

Instead the man uses him like he's nothing more than a toy, fucking into him until he spills, hot and sudden, before turning him onto his belly and fucking him some more, each thrust from this position pistoning into the same spot that had driven Arlot crazy earlier. He seemed to know each time Arlot neared orgasm, though, and each time he would stop and reach around to pinch fiercely at the skin of his cock, whispering harshly: "You haven't _earned_ it yet, sweetheart." Before continuing to fuck him again.

By the end of it, he's incoherent. The straps of the outfit have chafed into his skin, making his nipples sting. His skin feels sticky and unclean from the spend and slick drying on it. His lips hurt from being kissed-he's sure he's been kissed more today than in the rest of his life, both fiercely and gently. His cock extends from his slit in neglected attention, drooling like a leaky faucet.

The man is zipping up his pants and leaving Arlot lying limp and weak on the cushions. Before he departs through the curtain, he turns, and smiles in a way that's almost kind.

"The name's Rex, by the way," He winks. "I went easy on you this time. Next time I expect you to ride me yourself, alright, sweetheart?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ain't rex's first rodeo but it sure as hell is arlot's first


	3. Welcome to Glasshouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nonconsensual spanking and voyeurism. Arlot gets punished for not attracting any customers

Arlot wakes up with a gasp, floundering on the sheets. Sunlight streams through the open windows for the mud-hut. The air smells of hay. He has slept through his alarm again, and if he doesn't hurry and get outside to the field-

He blinks. The light is pink and blue and soft above him. He is naked and lying among silken cushions. Marlowe sits next to him, holding a wet cloth.

"Oh good. You're awake." He says, and drops the cloth down onto Arlot's bare chest. He yelps at the coolness. "I was about to wake you."

"You..." It takes a moment for Arlot to remember, but when he does...his belly still hurt, and he can still feel the phantom leak of Rex's come spilling down his thighs. "You lied to me!"

"Yeah." Marlowe shrugs. "And?"

"I demand-release me this instant!" Arlot demands, and he struggles to stand up. He can't, his legs are still weak, and he collapses pathetically once more when he tries. "I-I will report you-"

"Sure."

"They'll shut this whole filthy place down-"

"Alright."

"They'll put a bounty on your head!"

Marlowe sighs. "You think others haven't already tried?" He taps the side of his temple, staring balefully at Arlot through his glasses. "My names not _Marlowe_ , first of all. My name's Mev Sician. I run the most profitable whorehouse on this side of the galaxy, I have the most exotic and tasteful beings anyone has ever sampled."

"What-"

"Also-you think anyone's going to listen to you? Even if you do escape from this place, you think anyone on the streets is gonna listen to some scared little slut who ran away from home?" He grabs Arlot's chin, tilting him up. "You think there's anyone here who'll give a flying shit about you?"

Arlot swallows and jerks his head away. "I'll go to the police. They'll detain you for years for imprisoning me."

"Ooh, eru," He sighs. "That guy who fucked you last night? Rex? That's the _chief_ of police. Why do you think I let him take you for the first time instead of fucking you myself?" Marlowe-no, _Mev,_ laughs. "And Marlowe? That skeev from the accounting place? Yeah, I sent him the video of his potential accountant getting his brains fucked out. He's transferred your employment terms over to me in exchange for a preview of your next debut. You're legally mine now, darling."

The air turns so much colder on Arlot's skin. "I-I-No, I can't stay here-"

"I don't think you have a choice, kid. What're you gonna do, go crawling back to your parents and tell them you were wrong? Tell them you up and got yourself made into a grade A sex slave? If you try and go back to whatever stupid firm Marlowe's running, you're about as likely to get the same result as you found here. At least Rex is good at fucking. I don't think Marlowe's actually managed to grow a prick since puberty."

"I'm not-I can't be a _prostitute,_ " Arlot feels tears beginning to slice down his cheeks, hot and shameful. His hands tighten into fists on his thighs. "I can't-I don't want to-" He hiccups, and turns his face away, furious with himself for crying in front of this man.

Mev sighs, picks up the dropped rag, and begins to wipe at Arlot's face, gently. "Hey, kid. It's not that bad here. And you make decent money."

"I want-I want to go home," Arlot wouldn't admit that he was crying, but there was no other way to explain the shaking of his shoulders and chest.

"Yeah, you and ten billion other aliens. Listen, tell you what," Mev grumbles, scratching at his nape and looking almost apologetic."If you make enough bank to buy back your contract, I'll send you home myself with a nice bonus to show your parents and an apology letter. And again, it's not bad here. We have insurance so you don't get attacked by someone crazy and medical advisors on deck to make sure you don't get completely destroyed. And free meals and lodging.

"And-" He pokes Arlot in the chest, and leans in conspiratorially. "I saw how you were doing last night. I know you were enjoying it, and you weren't doing half bad. I'd say you got some natural whore instincts in you."

A flush crawls up Arlot's face, and he shakes his head. "N-no, that wasn't-"

"Do you wanna see the video and tell me I'm wrong?"

"No!" He shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. "I...how long would it take more me to earn back my contract?"

"Each customer pays an average of 50 Ives for a good session. How many sessions you do in a day depends on your stamina. There are also night auctions, where a high bid might earn a whole night with the stage whore. Those can get up to two thousand. And if you get _really_ popular, you might start raising customer prices by double or more." The numbers fly through Arlot's head like familiar songs. "Your contract is roughly ten thousand Ives. You work every day in a cycle and get one day off, which you can use to do whatever, be it recuperate or keep working."

Ten thousand Ives. 50 per session. That would mean two hundred sessions, maybe less if he worked hard. Arlot grits his teeth.

"Fine."

"Good boy." Mev stands up and stretches with a sigh. "I'll have someone bring you breakfast and your daily outfit. Then you're on deck in 0800, someone will lead you to your station. Oh, and kid?"

"Y-yes?"

"While you're on duty, you go by 'Fay'. Welcome to Glasshouse, Fay."

* * *

The outfit is worse than the last, somehow. 

It's white and sheer, the panties hardly hiding anything at all and the...corsette? Bralette? That sits on his chest doing hardly anything other than accentuate the darkness of his nipples. White stockings cover his legs up to the thigh, and on his feet are ridiculous high-heeled shoes that he can hardly walk in. A white collar with a little silver heart is clipped around his neck by one of the other workers, and he thinks it's gaudy and ridiculous.

His station, as it turns out, it standing at a window that overlooks the back of the building. It's a little cubicle, empty of anything except a stool to sit on, and nothing to hide him from the stares of people outside, who might come by and take a look at the available wares. His 'nickname', Fay, glows on the window in a soft pink, alongside the price for an hour.

The Marrean woman, who had helped him into his outfit, sets a small cup of water in the corner, out of sight of any potential customers. "It's good to have some refreshments," she says. "It can get pretty tiring sitting here all day."

"Got any tips?" He asks, half jokingly.

"Don't cringe when they look at you. Try and exaggerate it for anyone you think might be a good lay. That way you get some fun out of it." She shrugs, and leaves.

* * *

He doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse when no one stops for him.

A few certainly do, jeering at him and hooting things that are probably incredibly lewd and horrible, if he could understand them, but otherwise no one seems to give him any mind. By the time the planet's third sun was beginning its descent, Arlot feels relieved. He was not touched today.

And then Mev enters the cubicle.

He grabs Arlot by the wrist and drags him off the stool, and he struggles to follow, clumsily stepping along with footsteps that click loudly against the floor.

"Agh-Mev-"

" _Sir,_ " Mev corrects with a hiss. "And you better shut it before I get really angry."

He's pulled into a little room, this one with a bed against the wall and tables laid out with all sorts of tool and things Arlot has no names for. He is shoved unceremoniously onto the bed with a grunt, and when he looks up, he finds he is staring into his reflection, distorted in a fish-eye lens. A camera.

Mev takes the camera drone and positions it so that it faces the bed, tapping it once, and a red light begins to shine. Then he turns to Arlot.

Immediately Arlot is crushed under the man's weight, struggling helplessly as his wrists are caught in a tight grip and cinched together in handcuffs. A large ball is stuffed in his mouth and promptly strapped in, the strap running around his head. He is pulled over Mev's lap, belly against the man's knees, and he feels Mev's hand resting against one of his cheeks. Like a warning.

"Hello, loyal viewers." Mev says, and Arlot realizes he is talking to the camera. "Welcome back to Glasshouse. Today we have a very unruly situation on our hands.

"If any of you remember yesterday's special, you'll remember our newest recruit. Fay." He pats Arlot's ass, and the Neivein yelps. "Well, for as good as he did on his first time yesterday, he's been acting up today. No customers whatsoever. Being completely uninviting. So how about we show him a little discipline."

Mev pauses, and when Arlot cranes his head, he realizes Mev is reading off of a telescreen that floats alongside the camera. "User Wenbarg01332 has donated ten Ives, one for each spank. You hear that, Fay?"

He can only grumble through the gag, hands flexing. Without warning, Mev's hand comes down with a crack against his ass, and he shrieks. Immediately the area begins to burn.

"Count it for me, Fay. Or that'll be another ten." Mev says, and Arlot shakingly extends one finger on his tethered hands, bracing himself for the next hit.

It comes against the other cheek, and he groans, tears springing to his eyes as he takes a deep breath. He extends another finger. Two.

Another. His legs kick up on reflex, before sinking back down at Mev's warning pinch. Three.

Another, this time on both cheeks, and with enough force Arlot feels his hips shift on Mev's lap. Applying painful pressure to his crotch. Four.

Another. He sobs, feeling drool leak past the gag and onto his chin. F-ive.

This time, the slap takes a while to arrive, and when it does, the texture is different, but oddly familiar. It stings more, the texture more smooth and unforgiving, and Mev rubs a circle over his ass as though trying to comfort him. He must've put on a glove, Arlot thinks. Leather.

"Did you stop counting, Fay?" Mev asks, and Arlot shakes his head urgently, putting up another finger. That was six, right? It had to be.

The hand comes down. Seven.

"I think you miscounted, Fay." No, that wasn't right, it had to be seven. He shakes his head, and those leather fingers tap warningly against the heated flesh of his ass. Or was it eight?

He puts up eight, and is rocked by the force of the blow that comes down upon him. "No, Fay. That was seven. I thought you could count."

He flushes with shame, and puts down a finger, quickly putting it up again when the hand comes down. Eight. They were on eight now, they had to be.

"No, Fay." Sighs Mev. "We," _Slap._ "Are," _Slap._ "Still," _Slap._ "On," _Slap._ " _Seven._ "

Arlot feels like his head is spinning, he can hardly breathe. Above him Mev is talking again, the sound distant and barely distinct through his pain.

"Folks, what do you think the punishment for the punishment should be, because he sure hasn't learned his lesson, I think." Arlot sobs, shaking his head and trying to look up, as though he might find comfort in the people behind the lens. All he sees is the spam of messages in the chat, flashing too fast for him to read. "User BreetEmG99d has donated seventy Ives, says: 'spank him in the pussy. maybe he'll know how to count that' Interesting idea."

Arlot trembles, and bucks, a desperate attempt to get away, but he's clumsy and constrained in this outfit and Mev manipulates him like a rag doll, making him sit on the edge of the bed with thighs spread.

"Keep these apart for me, darling, and you won't have to count them." He says in Arlot's ear with a stroke on the inside of his thigh, and with a shaky breath Arlot complies, placing his heels on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs, looking away from the camera. Every inch of him wanted to press his knees together and maybe roll up into a ball, and disappear. The part of him that feared whatever worse punishment that might follow this kept them apart.

Mev's hand reaches forward and rubs down Arlot's slit through the panties, teasing the sensitive flesh hidden there, massaging until Arlot's hips begin to hurt with the ache of keeping his legs apart and and he can feel slick beginning to collect there, and he wonders how broken he must be if he is already being turned on by such horribly perverted actions.

 _It's the stimulus. I'm just reacting to touch._ He thinks desperately to himself.

Mev grabs the crotch of the panties and tears them away, the seams bursting, and now there is nothing between Arlot and the camera, and whoever might be watching. He shudders at the thought, even when he feels a line of slick begin to trace down between his cheeks and onto the bed. Mev takes both sides of his slit and pulls them open, revealing the trembling cock and the twitching labia that had previously been hidden from view. He pulls apart Arlot's lips, and the cool air on Arlot's hole is almost enough to make him snap his legs closed.

Arlot feels himself begin to cry once more, trying to suppress his hiccuping sobs as Mev whistles lowly, tracing a finger down from the bottom of Arlot's vaginal cavity and up to the leaking head. "Well, viewers, what do you think? One of the prettiest things you've ever seen? Maybe I should just have you stand at the window with your bare ass and pussy facing the street. That'd attract customers." He lets the slit close slowly, just barely covering the swelling head of Arlot's dick, before leaning forward over Arlot's shoulder to read another comment. "User...I have no idea how to read that, asks. 'aren't neivs supposed to be hung af? or is this one just too cute for that lol.' Viewer, friend, I've heard tell of Neivs getting incredibly gifted erections during mating season, specifically if they enter ruts. But in other times, like our dear Fay right now, they're just small like this." He pinches at the exposed head, and Arlot shrieks, hips twisting.

He couldn't stand this, he couldn't stand the idea of his suffering being broadcasted and enjoyed. He turns his head away, eyes screwing shut, only to have Mev grab his chin and force him to face the camera once more. "Come on, Fay. Show off that cute face of yours. People love it."

He opens tear-bleary eyes just as the first slap comes down against his crotch, and he screams, bucking as much as he could with the other hand that digs into his hip and keeps him tethered. "That's one, darling."

His hand comes down again, and Arlot's head falls back against Mev's shoulder, his whole frame trembling. "Two." It hurt, each instant of contact making the flesh jiggle lewdly, hurting and also not. "Three." His thighs shake with the urge to close, to hide himself, and as if sensing this, Mev lets his hand linger against his stinging cunt for an instant, as if in warning, before coming down again. "Four."

By eight-or was it nine?-Arlot couldn't tell the difference between what hurt and what didn't anymore. Each hit generated friction between his folds that he couldn't help but chase, his hips moving up to greet each spank and then shrinking back afterwards, his lips quivering in pain and also pleasure. He knew he must be dripping, staining the bedsheets. His nipples strain and chafe against the lace of the bralette.

Mev grabs his chin again and jerks his face back towards the camera, the screen a mere blur of light in his vision. "Fay, look at you. Look at how beautiful you are."

Arlot's vision focuses, and he realizes he's staring at himself. The screen no longer only shows the chat history, but also him, sitting on the bed with legs splayed and skin flushed, face unfocused and delirious. His crotch is shiny with his own fluids. His chin is covered in his own drool. He looks perverted, disgusting, and unrecognizable.

Mev's hand comes down once more, and Arlot comes. Hard.

When he comes back to himself, he realizes his legs are on the floor, skewed at awkward angles, and shaking. His back rests against Mev's chest, his face buried in the human's neck. He smells of smoke and sweat and the same pungent perfume that covered the rest of the place, and something darker and more organic beneath it all.

Mev wraps his arms around Arlot, nuzzling the Neivein's cheek. "You did so good, Fay. Darling, you put on such a good show." He murmurs. "Did you see yourself? You're beautiful. Every bit the natural-born slut I knew you were."

It's almost comforting. It's almost worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a twink with top energy I just wanna wreck a stupid pretty blue boy by railing into his pussy is that too much to ask


	4. Tightrope walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crotch rope walk, public humiliation, bidding. That's it really

He tries to take at least one customer a day.  
  
The task isn't as easy as he thought. With as wide an array of wares as Mev offers, he needs to work hard to attract curious buyers, flirting and posing in the window and feeling both repulsed and relieved when someone takes notice. He doesn't get the option to be picky, not when he's so inexperienced.  
  
Most of his customers are viewers of the Glasshouse videos, and they let him know as they fuck him, whispering foul and guttural things in his ear that he can hardly understand and doing the same as what happened on the videos. Making Arlot ride them until he collapses and slapping his ass and pussy until both are stinging, burning messes, and he can hardly sit on the stool the next day.  
  
As he quickly learns, his videos are the most popular on the site.  
  
Now and then, he gets a customer who isn't a viewer or particularly interested in much else other than fucking him quickly and leaving. They come in, they rut into him with whatever appendages they have, they leave, no words are exchanged. Arlot prefers these. He can usually escape during these times, pretend that whatever is being done to his body isn't happening.  
  
\--  
  
One day he doesn't go to the window station, as usual. Instead, Prin, the Marrean woman he had seen around, comes into his room and tells him to stay put.  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
She shrugs. "You think I know anything more than you on what goes on in Mev's head?" The clasps of her white dress blouse are unclasped, revealing the slope of her cleavage, and she looks totally at ease, smoking her cigar as the tendrils on her head wave peacefully. "You're gonna get your meals delivered and stuff, so relax. Mev'll come by later with the parlor painters and tell you what's up."  
  
"Do you at least have a guess?" Arlot asks, trying to hide annoyance.  
  
"I do. Not any I'm gonna share though, rookie." She turns on her heel and leaves.  
  
Rude. Arlot sighs and stretches out on the cushions, shifting against the lumpy surface on his bare skin. When he wasn't in the windows, he was mostly naked, and just about every outfit he's worn has gotten taken away immediately for cleaning or repair or so forth. But Mev had given him a sort of robe, a floaty little thing with a waving hem embroidered with flowers and exotic birds, which he kept wrapped around himself when he wasn't working and tucked neatly away, hidden in a chest, when he was.  
  
When he buries his nose in it and takes a deep breath, he can't smell the sickly sweet scent of his surroundings anymore, and he can pretend he is not here.  
  
\--  
  
Mev sends for him a few hours later, in the evening.  
  
The parlor painters are the name that most of the other workers give the beauticians, whose job it is to make the workers look fresh or pretty for the customers. Arlot's met them before, and they are masked and faceless, and never exchange a word with Arlot, simply seating him on the high seat and beginning to attack his face with a range of brushes and pigments, rubbing his hair with soaps and lotions to make it soft and wavy, dusting glitter onto his body.  
  
Mev watches him as they tend to his appearance, occasionally giving feedback. "No, don't use the red eyeshadow. Use the gold. It'll stand out more in the spotlight. Yes, glitter on his thighs too. We want people to really see him."  
  
The commentary does nothing to help Arlot's nerves on what's to come next.  
  
The outfit of the evening is little more than a red scarf, which gets draped low around his hips and secured in place with a gold clasp. Gold bangles go around his ankles, chiming softly with his every movement. A dark red collar, made of soft leather, is tightened around his neck.  
  
"One more," Mev says, and Arlot stays as still as he can as two clamps are put over his nipples, connected by a thin golden chain. He knows the mistake of trying to refuse Mev the last time these were put on him, and the ghost of the bruises ache against his chest in memory. Mev tugs on the chain, and Arlot whines, arching his back.  
  
"Beautiful." Mev breathes.  
  
Arlot gets lead to a dark room behind a red curtain. Extending out through the curtain is a taut rope, with knots segmented off in a pattern. The whole place smells especially strong, like musk and sweat and the sourness of alcohol, and Arlot feels a chill run up his spine as Mev chains his wrists behind his back and clips a long leash to his collar.  
  
He doesn't understand the purpose of the rope until Mev leads him closer to it, and then grabs one of his thighs and raises it, lifting it over the rope. "N-no!"  
  
To his surprise, Mev actually stops, pausing with his body pressed so closely to Arlot's, his hand still supporting Arlot's leg. "What?"  
  
"I don't-I can't-"  
  
"You can. I believe in you, Fay." And then he's dropped over the rope. It slots neatly into his slit, and he gasps, having to step on tip-toe to avoid having it press so tightly against his sensitive flesh. Mev is fast, quickly chaining his ankles together to prevent him from trying to step off, giving a reassuring pat against Arlot's flank as he rises again.  
  
"Ah, right. Almost forgot." From his pocket he pulls a red hankerchief, which he ties around Arlot's head, tucking the twisted section of it into his mouth. "Now be a good boy and put on a show, alright?"  
  
"Hmmn-!" Mev takes the leash and walks out through the curtain.  
  
Arlot stands there for an indeterminate amount of time, feeling his legs grow numb from standing but not wanting to relax. From behind the curtain he can hear the growing chatter of people, the clink of silverware and cutlery, and the idea of being seen again makes him grow hot. He remembers the last time it happened, being put on such lewd display for unseen strangers, and he can't imagine having to put faces to those eyes.  
  
He moves his hips inadvertently, realizes what he's doing, and freezes in horror. But he can feel himself growing wetter already.  
  
The curtains open.  
  
He squints at the blinding light in his eyes, taking a moment to adjust before he can really see what's around him. He's standing on a wooden platform, a stage really. The rope that's between his legs extend all the way to the end of it, which extends to be surrounded on three sides by people. Masked people, in the black-and-white of formal clothing with masks covering faces and eyes.  
  
There's a sea of them. And they're all staring at Arlot.  
  
"Dearest, loyal customers." Mev's voice booms from above. "I hope you are excited for another special auction, this time starring our up-and-rising newest recruit, Fay." There's a round of applause, accompanied by appreciative murmurs. Arlot wants to shrink away, wants to run, but the leash at his neck is tight. The other end is connected to a winch at the end of the platform, where Mev stands, one hand on the crank and the other on a mic. "A Neivein, young, healthy, and inexperienced. If it wasn't for the video of him getting absolutely railed, I would say he's a practical virgin!"  
  
The crowd laughs. A few people holler.  
  
"Now, let's begin the bids, shall we?" Arlot casts his eyes around, desperately searching for someone who might help, desperately hoping to make eye contact with someone who can see that he doesn't want to be here, was never supposed to be here. "We start at a standard of 500 Ives. But we have a very special even in store for you folks."  
  
"For ever additional one-hundred Ives, our lovely Fay will get to walk over another knot." Arlot's blood turns to ice. On cue, the rope begins to rise, nestling itself snug between his folds, digging into his cock. He gasps, and tries to raise himself, but he can't. He has nowhere to go, now. "And for every knot he doesn't manage, that's an extra hour you get with him, entirely free of charge."  
  
"Let the bids begin!" Booms Mev's voice, and around Arlot, he sees numbers begin to flash, displayed by projectors, and people are shouting. He can't understand most of it. What he does understand makes him want to curl up and die.  
  
He won't find any sympathy here.  
  
"Five-fifty, six-hundred-do I hear seven-hundred? Seven-fifty- and there's our first eight-hundred, already! That's three knots, Fay, sweetheart. How about you get moving." The leash by his collar snaps tight, and he stumbles forward, nearing the first knot. The crowd jeers.  
  
He can't move backwards, and Mev continues to crank the winch, drawing Arlot forward. He shudders, grits his teeth around the gag, and works himself over the first knot, feeling it slide against the underside of his cock. If scrapes between his lips, barely assisted by the fluid that gathers in Arlot's hole, rough and unwelcome and creating an unforgiving friction that makes Arlot whimper.  
  
The roar in his ears grow in a crescendo, and he's distinctly aware of people cheering.  
  
"That's one, darling." Mev says, and when he looks up he sees the man smiling at him. Encouragingly. Proud. "Come on, two more for me, Fay."  
  
The next two are each worse than the last.  
  
\--  
  
By the fifth one he nearly collapses, and is urged into standing up again.  
  
By the seventh one the rope rides so high into his cunt that the knot digs into his hole, and he gets stuck there until he finally manages to pull himself through, feeling a lingering burn in his hole that is hardly soothed by his own slick.  
  
By the ninth he feels rubbed raw, every nerve turned to fire. The glitter on his thighs is trickling down from his sweat and fluid. His cock aches like a bruise. He feels like he's never been more turned on in his life.  
  
By the tenth he's too far gone to feel ashamed, grinding down on the rope, drool trickling from the corners of his mouth. Trying to find some relief for the itch that grows in his folds, as the crowd delights in his actions. Mev can hardly read the numbers fast enough.  
  
"Sixteen-no, seventeen-eighteen hundred! And that, folks, concludes our auction!" Arlot can barely hear him, can barely comprehend. "Congratulations of Den Messives on his fine purchase. Fay, that's three more. Come on, put those lovely legs to good use."  
  
Arlot sobs, straightens, and takes a few more steps. He can feel every dimension of the knot as it passes against him, pressing against the sensitive head of his dick, then between his swollen and dripping lips. He stumbles, barely catching himself before being throttled by the leash, and the action digs the rope deeper into him, and he can't help but roll his hips down.  
  
Mev jerks the winch, Arlot falls forward another step and off of the knot, and comes with a cry, almost falling off the rope. He curls in on himself, eyes shut tight, feeling the familiar warm spray of his own come trickling down his legs.  
  
"Just one?" Mev says, disappointed, and he's hardly audible over the people, who seem to be absolutely delighted by Arlot. "Well, that's a two extra hours for you, Sir Den. Your purchase will be delivered to your room within the hour, though in what state I can't say."  
  
"Thank you for attending the Glasshouse auction!" And that's all Arlot hears before his mind fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wrote this in a way that's actually hot I genuinely can't tell anymore


	5. Upgrade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uninterested sex with a stranger (he's lowkey dissociating), discussion of indentured servitude, slut-shaming, dehumanizing (he's not human to begin with but you know), non-con fingerfucking

"That's it...tight little pussy, so good, so good for me-"

"H-ah, ah, p-lease-"

"Beg harder for me, baby, beg me to wreck this good little hole-"

"Please, sir, I want it.. _._ "

Arlot was being held up against the wall, legs wrapped around the waist of the Sephos man in front of him as he was being fucked with the frantic practice of a dying man.

"So good," The man breathes again, breath hot and sticky and sour against Arlot's face. "So perfect..."

 _Hurry_ up, Arlot wanted to scream. He hated customers like this, the ones that didn't care if they went over the time limit and the ones that didn't feel the need or common decency to finish Arlot off, either. His back was aching from being manhandled against the wall and he suspected that he wasn't going to get to orgasm this time, judging by the way the man's hips stuttered and jerked with the promise of his impending release. Arlot had places to be, that didn't involve letting strangers fuck him or having to pretend like he was enjoying it.

At last, he hears a low groan, and feels something begin to leak down his cheeks, and the man's head tips forward to rest against his shoulder. Arlot fights the urge to push him off with a shudder-the customer was sticky with foul-smelling sweat and something acrid, and the sooner he left, the better. Arlot was already late.

The man sets him down with surprising gentleness, reaching down to wipe some of the excess fluid away with the corner of his shirt. "Was that good? Would she like it?"

...Right. Worst of all were _these_ kinds of men, the ones so insecure and virginal they sought out prostitutes to help them gain confidence. Though Arlot supposed he had to be a little flattered, so he flutters his eyelashes and looks up, all sweetly. "I think she'll love it."

A blatant lie. But all five of the man's eyes light up, and his face pulls into what must be an approximation of a smile (with no teeth) and he shakes Arlot's hand. "Thank you, Fay! I owe it to you if she accepts the engagement!"

 _She won't if she smells me on your dick,_ he thinks, but he just smiles and watches the man depart and sighs. That was the end of his shift. The real end; he should've been done ten minutes ago, and there's still come dripping out of him and he's sure he still stinks of other people. But he can hardly care about that as he quickly pulls his bathrobe from the little chest against the wall, wrapping it as tightly as he can around himself. He's late to his meeting with Mev.

Another five minutes later, and he stands outside the door the Mev's office, staring at his reflection in the chrome surface. He looks a mess, hair mussed and dressed scantly in just a skimpy silken robe.

Arlot takes a deep breath. It’s one of the few places that don’t stink of perfume or sex. The air is cleaner here. Sharper. Not entirely scentless-he can smell the spice of some foreign cologne and some distinct salt like a saline ocean, but it’s not unwelcome. If not for the cold making him shiver through his thin clothes, and his reason for being there in the first place he’d almost enjoy it.

He takes another inhale and knocks on the door.

For a moment, there’s nothing, and Arlot’s not sure if he’s relieved or annoyed. And then Mev’s voice echoes from the speaker by the keypad, tinny and only slightly cracked with static.

“Come in.”

The door slides open with a soft hum, and Arlot’s suddenly blinded by a gush of light. He squints a bit-and as his eyes adjust, he finds that the source is the gigantic window behind Mev, which overlooks some of the lower buildings of the city and has a direct view of the planet’s three suns, setting slowly. There’s a rush of hover-cars and speeders outside, but there’s no noise.

Mev’s sitting at a metal desk, sipping something strong-smelling out of a mug and reading over the contents of a tablet. The floor is covered in a plush gray carpet that pulls at Arlot’s two-inch heels (the only sensible shoes he really had at his disposal). A statue, composed of curling crescents of metal, sits in the corner.

The sophistication ends there. Mev is dressed in a rumpled white dress shirt, with the first buttons undone, and judging by the odor Arlot could guess he's been wearing it for a while. Mugs of empty caf are littered around his desk, as well as the empty pitcher. Five other tablets with screens lit up are on the table’s surface. A board pulled up against one wall has light-penned sketches of outfits, show displays, and so on.

"Mev-"

"Sir," Mev corrects, not looking up. "And sit down."

He gestures to the empty chair in front of the desk. Arlot does, slowly, and feels the squish of leftover lubricant between his legs as he does so, and he shudders. The robe will have to go in the wash later.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I wanted to see you fifteen minutes ago."

Arlot feels his cheeks flush. "There was a customer, sir, I couldn't-"

"Whatever. I'm not looking for your excuses." Arlot bites back the rest of his words. "I have good news and bad news for you, Fay. Good news, I'm upgrading you. You're getting the suite entertainment rooms."

Oh. That was...good. Maybe. Arlot blinked. "And bad?"

"Bad news, for you, your contract has changed."

"What!"

Mev slides his tablet across the table for Arlot to see, the words pixellating into Univ letters. A paragraph is bolded.

**SHOULD THE INDENTURED SEEK TO TERMINATE THE CONTRACT, A COMPOSITE SUM OF**

**100 000 IVES**

**MUST BE PAID, IN FULL, TO THE EMPLOYER, UNDER PENALTY OF PLANETARY LAW.**

_One hundred thousand!_ Arlot's head reeled. "This is-this can't be right!"

"That's the cost of popularity, Fay," Mev shrugs. "It's fine though. It wasn't like you were close to paying off the original debt, anyways."

"What do you mean?! Between the routine customers and the auction-"

"You don't take a hundred percent commission, Fay. Stars, what kind of business would I be running?" Mev rolls his eyes, and Arlot's words die in his throat. "Use your head. You take about ten percent commission on each job, fifteen percent on the events. And then there are things deducted for cleaning and outfitting and lodging..." He counts off on his fingers. "Just saying, Fay. You've got a decent amount, but it's not enough."

Arlot thinks he should be crying right now, but no tears come. He feels frozen. "There's no democratic planet," He says, and he's proud of how his voice doesn't shake. "That allows for contracts to be altered or conceived without consent of both parties..."

Mev barks a laugh. "Oh, that's rich. You're talking politics at me? Sweetheart, we're in the city _underground._ And you're a whore." He wields the word like a brand. "There's no sector on this godforsaken planet that respects the word of a _whore_."

"I'm not a-a thing for you to change the price on at a whim!" Arlot stutters. "And-and..."

Mev stands up suddenly, and Arlot swallows the rest of his sentence. For a human, Mev was intimidating. Even clearly exhausted as he is now, his height and presence makes Arlot shrink.

"Hate to break it to you, _Fay,_ " Mev says softly, stepping around his desk. "But that's just what you are. A thing. _My_ thing, to be clear."

"I-I-"

"And," Mev continues, and suddenly his hand is on Arlot's thigh and dragging it up, the robe falling aside with a flutter to reveal the mess-soaked underwear between pale blue legs. Arlot squeaks, a hand flying to his mouth in shock and the other one moving to paw at Mev's grip, as iron and unyielding as it is. "And, even if you found a judge willing to listen to you. You think you're going to get a ruling in your favor? While you've still got a stranger's come between your legs?"

Mev drags three fingers on his free hand through the leaking slick, and Arlot shudders. "A-ah, Mev, no-"

" _Sir,_ " Mev corrects with a growl, and he pushes aside the wet lace of Arlot's panties and pushes those fingers in, up to the knuckles in one deft movement. Arlot's scream is muffled in his wrist. "And while you wear the clothes _I_ give you, and eat the food I feed you and sleep in these rooms-you belong to me, Fay. Don't you forget it."

"Sir, sir, please-" Mev was brutal and precise, fucking him with the practice of a man who had learned how to take someone apart like this. Arlot squirms in his grip, the cold of the leftover fluid contrasting to the heat building in his belly. "Don't-I don't want-"

"Who do you belong to, Fay?"

Arlot shudders, squeezing his eyes shut. "Y-you!"

"Again!" He barks, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that made Arlot's back arch.

"I-I belong to y-ou-" Arlot sobs. "P- _lease-!_ "

"Good boy." Mev crooks his fingers and twists, knuckles dragging on Arlot's inner walls, and it's too much. Arlot comes, the force of it blinding and bone-shaking, and by the time he comes down he's even more aware of the mess, the new and the old mixing together on his crotch and legs.

Mev wipes his hand on the edge of his shirt. The savageness is gone. He just looks tired again, a man running on too much caf and not enough sleep. Arlot could smell the dark, heady drink on him like a haze, along with sweat and musk and something like wood. Some sort of cologne, or soap.

"You have a day off tomorrow," Mev says, as Arlot wraps the robe tightly around himself and tries to stand. His legs shake, knees knocking. "Take the rest of the day off tonight, too. And ask Prin or someone to take you to the upper levels. Go shopping or something. Enjoy yourself."

Arlot doesn't answer. He suddenly feels cold, colder than the room had ever felt.

"I'll have someone take you to your new rooms. Get your stuff and wait for them to lead you." Mev takes off his glasses and sets them on the table, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Go."

Arlot walks out the door and waits to hear the soft whoosh as it slides shut, before he runs. Only does he make it to the color-saturated sanctuary of his own room, does he let the tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm glad people like this so far ahhhh?!?! thanks so much for reading this filth!


	6. Train Blues...maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted non-con on a train (there is groping involved) but also? Feelings? In this story? More likely than you think

Prin waits for him by the front entrance, dressed conservatively with a heavy cloak draped over her slender form. The hood practically swallows up the entirety of her head.

“It’s a precaution,” She explains, as they’re walking slowly through the morning crush of people, trying to avoid the more densely populated knots where pickpockets were sure to lurk. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized while I’m in the lower levels, and in this place it's better to dress inconspicuously.”

“So why are you making me wear this?” Arlot complains, pausing once more to readjust his top beneath his poncho. His tunic was too drab, Prin explained, and if he was to be wandering around with her he couldn’t look like a homeless little urchin. She had half-helped, half-wrestled him into a ridiculous undershirt composed of black netting, cut off just above the abdomen and below the ribs, and another shirt above it that was too thin and skimpy and white to really do much of a job of covering anything.

“Oh, it’s fine. You’re cute enough to make it work, and netting is in fashion.” She huffs, and drags him aside to narrowly avoid a large, lumbering alien. “We’re going to the surface to go shopping, anyways, and you can get some clothes that aren’t just lace and string.”

“How do you even know how to navigate this place?” Arlot grunts, the second time she drags him to a halt, this time avoiding a train of carts being led by a small, three-legged being.

“Habit. Time. You’ll learn it too, don’t worry. It’s easy once you figure it out.” 

They rush through the process of getting on the train to the upper levels. Prin convinces him to buy a multi-use pass to save the hassle of the lines and they shove their way into two empty seats. It’s crowded and packed to the seams with beings of all types, and Arlot feels a little faint. It’s painfully warm and humid.

But then they reach the surface.

Arlot gasps.

It’s a shimmering cityscape of silver buildings, with speeder lines stretching as far as the tallest buildings that reached into the blue sky. The streets are clean. The space is large.

It’s what he was hoping for when he first came here. He couldn’t believe this was so close by, all this time.

“Cool, right?” Prin chuckles at his slack-jawed expression. “Come on. You’re gonna boil in that coat of yours.” She had already shed her own cloak and shuffled it away into her bag, revealing a floaty, shimmering blouse and long skirt.

Arlot hesitates briefly before taking his own poncho off. The air is pleasantly warm, the sun a welcome heat, but he still shivers as the poncho drops from his shoulders. But she was right in what she said earlier-when he looks around, he can see several other beings, varying in size and shape and appearance, wearing similar to what he had. If not more extravagant and elaborate.

“Where to first?” He asks, and Prin grins.

“Let’s get you some proper outfits.” She says, and he follows her willingly.

* * *

"Ah, _shiru._ "

Prin stops dead in her tracks, causing Arlot to bump into her with a grunt. "What? What is it?"

"I'm late. We should've left earlier, but..." She suddenly looks panicked, shifting the weight of the bags in her hands. "Damn it. I thought I had enough time to drop home before-ugh."

"What?? Pri-"

"Listen." She sets her shopping down and puts a hand on Arlot's shoulder. "Do you think you can get back yourself? I have an appointment with someone that I just _can't_ miss."

"An appointment-" Arlot blinks. "What appointment? Wait, by myself?!"

"Yeah, I know, I know, and I'm sorry. But I promise it's not hard. Just get on train line FS-Sigma and get off at the seventh chime. You can remember that, right?"

"Hold on-"

"The card we set up for you should let you pass through the gates with no problem. If you're scared about missing your stop just stand close to the doors. And hold your bags close to your front, so no one robs you."

"Prin, why-"

"Arly," She says, and he flushes at the nickname. "Listen. You're a sweetheart and I believe in you. I'll buy you drinks next time we go out and answer any questions you have when I get back. But right now, I _really have to go._ " She pats his head, as apologetically as she can. "You'll do fine, okay? I'll see you back at the shop!"

"Prin!" But she's already disappeared in the crowd, leaving him with two bags worth of shopping in his hands and feeling significantly more overwhelmed than he did only ten seconds prior.

* * *

The hard part isn't getting to the station. Nor is it finding the right train or shoving his way on board.

The hard thing, Arlot thinks, is the being currently rutting against him as he stands, white-knuckles, pressed against the sliding door of the train car.

Appendages ghost his chest, sliding beneath his cloak to ruck up his shirt and feel him, pinching at his nipple. Another pair of hands dip between his legs, squeezing his crotch and the other cradling one of his buttocks, hard enough to hurt. Something stiff slides against the seam of his pants, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out.

Prin hadn't warned him about _this_. He holds his breath and tries not to react, as the stranger behind him keeps on muttering, whispering something in a language he doesn't know. Arlot makes a bid to get away, trying to squeeze out of where he's cornered against the door and some seats, but the body behind him surges forward, pressing him flat against the plasti-glass.

His breath fogs against the surface as he whimpers. The stranger makes a sound that might be a chuckle.

 _Someone, please help,_ he pleads silently, but the train car is packed full of indifferent people. He doubts if he screams, that anyone would take notice other than to shush him. And as if hearing those thoughts, the stranger reaches up with a hairless paw to press to Arlot's mouth, pressing skinny fingers against his lips and tongue and making him gag. The taste of oil and something rancid.

Hips grind down against his ass. A whisper in his ear that might've been the word 'slut', if Arlot could dedicate any effort to interpreting that without currently trying not to cry. His belly spasms beneath the stranger's ministrations. When he bites down on the intrusion in his mouth, the hand between his legs squeezes painfully, in warning.

He shuts his eyes. He doesn't want to look at his own reflection when this happens, as scared and teary-eyed as he is.

"Beg pardon!"

And suddenly, the stranger at his back is pulled away, and Arlot whips around just in time to see someone wrestle their way in between them, stooped down to pick something up off the floor. "So sorry, dropped my pen," They say, and straighten up, facing Arlot's assaulter. "Shaky train, afternoon rush, you know how it is, right?"

The other being mutters something, disgruntled.

"What's that? Sorry, speak a little louder for me, please. It's a loud train. Can't believe how loud this train car gets." They shrug dramatically. "Can hardly hear myself think, with everyone in here. You understand, right?"

The other one pulls away with a grunt and a chitter, looking furious at having been thwarted, and pushes their way through the crowd, leaving Arlot and his savior by the door.

They turns. And the first thing Arlot notices; his hair is very messy. All spiked up in some places and slicked down in others, like he spent most of his day in a hat. It's dark and very long, falling nearly to his shoulders, and it frames a smiling face. And now Arlot can see that they're a human, a man by the looks of it, with the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. The light in the roof is blotted out by his head, and his hair scrapes the ceiling.

"You alright?" He asks, and Arlot nods, not trusting his own voice. His heart still thuds too rapidly in his chest for comfort. "Hey, don't lean against the door. Here-"

The man takes a step back, so Arlot might have a little space to move and breathe. "Sorry I couldn't have gotten here sooner, but I wasn't kidding about how packed this train is. Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

The deluge of questions is too fast for Arlot to follow. The whiplash from being molested by a strange being to suddenly confronted by a grinning man still shakes his mind too much to conceive a proper answer. "I'm, uh. Yes, I'm okay, thank you." He clears his throat. "Thanks."

"Good. I'm glad." The man shakes his head, and Arlot wrinkles his nose. Now that he's a little more steady, he can see that the man looks rather...terrible. Not in face or appearance, but in dress. A baggy brown sweater and what looked like military-attire pants, and what looked like a construction worker's jacket overtop it all, striped with eye-watering orange. "When's your stop? I can ride with you."

"My stop?" His stomach drops. "I was supposed to get off at the seventh chime from the upper stations. Which stop are we on?"

"The next one is the eighth."

Of course. He'd gotten so distracted, he'd neglected to get off. Arlot bites his bottom lip, determined not to cry. "Oh."

"Ah, no worries. I was due for stop seven too, I missed it trying to get to your dilemma. Here, we can get off at the eighth and take another tram back to seven. Have you got a multi-use pass?"

"Yes."

"Cool. Then we're travel buddies." He grins again, and Arlot chuckles uncertainly. "Shall we get acquainted? You can call me Ran, I run a moving and shipping company, and I'm about to be very thoroughly scolded by my employees for being late again."

"Oh. Sorry for making you late." Arlot pauses. "Wait, 'again'? Do you always run late to your jobs?"

"Not on purpose. Usually it's because I needed to grab food, or I found a lost street animal that I just _had_ to help, or I got caught up talking to pleasant strangers." He winks. "But I think I have a good enough reason that they'll let it slide this time. You'll have to help me out and be my witness if they get too rowdy. If I wasn't so nice, they would've mutinied against me already."

Arlot laughs at that. "How do you know I won't testify against you?"

"Against me? I'm hurt." Ran places a hand on his chest and mocks a swoon. "What would you have to gain?"

"Maybe I'm going to help them overthrow you. And then _I'll_ run your company."

"Ah, wouldn't be the first time. And not going to be the last."

It's surprisingly easy, bantering with Ran like this. Arlot couldn't remember the last time he had a good conversation like this with someone. Maybe one of his older brothers, before they got too old and decided he was too immature and annoying to talk to and left him to his own devices. Arlot hardly notices when the eighth chime sounds, until Ran is nudging him gently towards the door.

"Hey, come on. Eighth stop, right?"

Arlot follows Ran through the station, as they locate the train going the opposite direction and hop on just before the doors close. Ran's clearly very familiar with this, only pausing briefly in stride to point something out on the map - "See this line? That's the line from Layer 0 to Layer 7.c, which is where we were going. So therefore it makes sense that the opposite train is this line, see, because the arrows." "When does that train leave?" "In a minute. Come on, let's go." - before pulling Arlot on board a small, slightly less cramped car than they were on previously, even finding an open seat.

"You take it." Ran says immediately.

"No, it's okay. You missed your stop to help me, you should."

"Ah, I miss my stops all the time. And I'm a big guy, I could do with some exercise. Standing won't kill me."

"Well, I'm not going to sit in it. So you take it."

They bicker a little more like this, before some other being grumbles something and takes the empty chair, solidly ending their argument and making Ran laugh. The sound was loud and a little piercing, but Arlot found he liked it. It was infectious. The whole stranger was funny in a weird way, like he was cobbled together from spare parts that gave him a too-tall height and mismatched clothes and a big voice.

And then, all too soon, the subway chimes.

"Here we are. The seventh station." They get off together, and Arlot finds himself in familiar territory. The filth and the closed off people, dressed in muted colors. Nothing like the city that the planet boasted most of. "Do you know where you're going now?"

"Yes, I can find my way back. Thank you again for...everything, I suppose."

"Hey, no problem. Thanks for the company. And-hold on-" He rummages through his pockets, face screwed comically into that of concentration, before withdrawing a little rectangle. "Here. My company card. In case you ever want to, just...talk, or something, y'know?"

The card is a little thing of glass and metal, and when Arlot tilts it, the letters pop back out again in rainbow definition. It's incredibly tacky. "No expenses spared on these cards, I'm guessing?"

"I'm a man of very specific tastes." Ran winks, and Arlot finds the action ridiculous, but endearingly fitting. "Well, I'm off. Take care, mutinous stranger."

"Take care, Ran."

It's not until much later that Arlot realizes, that he never told Ran his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry prin im using you for plot development
> 
> also hey some nice stuff! i hope this New Character is enjoyable (and i chunked this out fast so it's gonnab eownky.....i;ll edit later)


	7. Good dog!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops all non-con  
> sex pollen used to mimic effects of a heat (yes the a/b/o thing), rope bondage, orgasm torture/denial, nipple clamps, blindfolding, fisting. and some emotional manipulation
> 
> read at your own risk folks

_I must have a problem,_ Arlot thinks, because several days later he still can't stop wondering about that black-haired human from the train.

It's not like he thinks about it in a _bad_ way. He's not dreaming of murdering the man. But it's a good distraction for when Arlot's getting railed by some person or another, and needs something to take his mind away.

Though maybe it's _too_ effective a distraction. More than one customer finds him disappointing, leaving with complaints of him being "frigid" or "prudish". Mev comes along again, while Arlot is combing his hair in preparation for bed, to scold.

"You only get as much out of the job as you put into it," Mev says, with all the air of a stern teacher, and Arlot tries not to roll his eyes. "Do I need to put you up for some kind of training session?"

"No, sir."

"Then start showing some enthusiasm. These people pay for a slut. Not some fish-eyed hole." He sniffs, and this time Arlot does roll his eyes. "If I get any more complaints, I'll see to it that you learn."

When he leaves, Arlot goes back to the little drawer where he had unceremoniously shoved his poncho a few days after his first stint to the upper levels, and digs quickly through the pockets until he finds what he wants. The little card the man had slipped him.

Prin had squealed when he first showed her, when she had gotten back to the shop and sought him out to apologize for abandoning him so suddenly. "You've got an admirer," She teased, as though that was something worth teasing about.

"You think so?" Arlot asked, turning the card over in his hands, skeptical. It's a very standard business card, embossed with a the name Ran Doma. The calling ID at the bottom is shiny and beckoning.

"Why else give you the card? And anyways, that's a good thing. It's good to have a few outside connections." Prin hummed. "If he's rich enough, you can ask him to hire you. Or marry you, whatever, so you never have to work another day in your life."

"You can do that?!"

"If he thinks you're attractive enough, sure. It's happened once or twice. Why do you think I had to rush to that appointment?"

It takes a moment for Arlot to understand what she's saying. "Wait, so you were...you ditched me for your boyfriend?"

"Okay, that sounds bad, but it wasn't for my boyfriend. More like the guy I'm trying to seduce into becoming my sugar daddy." She waved off his words with a careless hand, as if it was the most normal thing on the planet. "I like this job and all, but I'm also tragically seduced by the materialistic."

"I don't even know what that means!"

Prin rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it. But anyways, hold onto that. I don't know if you ever want to use it, but it doesn't hurt to keep it around."

Arlot deliberated it. The man from the train had been decent looking, if a little goofy. He'd been dressed normally, but didn't look outlandishly rich or anything more then just a nicer passerby who decided to help him out. It was a big city. Arlot doubted he'd ever see the man again.

Wait.

"Wait. You _like_ this job?" He asked, and Prin nodded. "Why??"

"Why not? I applied, I got hired, and I get free healthcare and lodging and food." Prin shrugged. "I know some sleazier places might bind you by contract, but I applied freely, so I can quit whenever I want."

Arlot felt something in him twist with envy, and suddenly he finds himself hating Prin. Which was ridiculous, because Prin had never done anything against him and was an overall decent person, but she had the freedom he lacked and talked about it so carelessly. Like waving it in his face.

"I'm going to bed." He said, suddenly, and he left her room before she could question. The anger followed him all the way to his clean, new rooms, and all the way up until he had burrowed beneath the sheets, still stewing.

It wasn't Prin's fault, he thought, lying in the darkness. Prin was Prin, and she had thought the job fitting and applied and got accepted like any other job. The only difference between them was that she knew what she was getting at, and Arlot hadn't, and had let himself be swindled into what may very well be slavery. The only thing at blame here, really, was his own foolishness and naiveness.

Now, in present time, he turns the card over in his hands once more, feeling the edge of it against his thumb. The stranger was a stranger. Just as forgettable as any of the customers who came to Arlot's bed, except Arlot couldn't stop thinking about him. There was nothing the man could offer him, he was sure of it.

He shoves the card back into the folds of his poncho and pushes the drawer back. He needed to stop thinking about him.

* * *

A few mornings later, he wakes up to a knock on the door.

He doesn't move at first. He's not interested in moving, so he grumbles and turns over. When the knocks become more insistent, he shouts back a "Fine, fine, I'm up-" And drags himself from the bed, going through the bare minimum of a morning routine. His shift doesn't start for another half hour, so there was no reason for him to rush to attention for whoever was at his door.

He's still mulling half-heartedly over what scandalous set to wear for the day when the door opens.

Mev stands there, face a mask of controlled fury, and he grabs Arlot by the wrist and begins to drag him down the hall, despite his best attempts to resist. All the way to the mirrored elevator, where Arlot has to stare at his own, wild reflection, hair mussed and pyjamas wrinkled, next to Mev, tall and straight-backed and no longer sleepy-eyed. His gaze is sharp and focused behind his glasses. His shirt is clean, and a tie sits undone against his chest.

They reach the hallway that leads to Mev's office, and now Arlot really begins to fight. Call it Neivian instinct, or the ozone-like fog of anger that pervaded Mev, but Arlot was now fully awake and very terrified, scratching at the hand that holds his wrist and screaming, feet scrabbling uselessly at the carpet as Mev pulls him along easily, like Arlot's nothing more than a slightly unruly child.

It's only when the door closes behind them does Arlot manage to break free, though he suspects that Mev had released him. He breathes hard, anger bleaching into every muscle and turning his vision dark, and falls into a crouch, defensive.

Mev's lips quirk into a brief smirk, amused. "Going to fight me, sweetheart?"

"What the hell do you want," Arlot snarls back. He had never been violent before. Neivs rarely were aggressive, but they could be provoked just like any other species. And once provoked, they were difficult to calm back down.

"Do you remember what I told you? You need to improve your enthusiasm for the customers." Mev crosses the room, seemingly unbothered, and withdraws something from his desk. "Well, I got complaints. And it seems you didn't take my words to heart."

In one hand, he holds what looks like a skein of black rope. In the other he holds a black baton. "Are you going to be good and come here?"

Arlot hisses. He suspects the door behind him is locked, so the only way out now was to fight.

"Thought not." Mev sighs, and he aims to baton at Arlot. He barely has time to comprehend the movement before a purple bolt of electricity shoots out, hitting him square in the chest. Not strong enough to kill him, but enough to make his muscles spasm painfully, sending him to his knees as he fights to take a breath through a compromised diaphragm.

That's all Mev needs to push him down, straddling his back and winding rope around his wrists. By the time Arlot recovers enough to move, he's trussed, ankles bound to his thighs and rope winding around his torso, looping between his pectorals and in the crease of his thighs. one end of the rope is pulled taut from the small of his back, held fast in Mev's hand.

He screams in terror or frustration, he's not sure, and strains. But the ropes are tight and his movements just draws it tighter, digging into his flesh. One of Mev's hands drag him upwards into a sitting position, and splays against his belly, and he feels slightly chapped lips pull into a smirk against the back of his neck. "Try harder, sweetheart."

Arlot pulls his head forward and then rams it back, and hears the satisfying crunch of something breaking. Mev yelps, then growls, and then Arlot's dragged up and practically thrown onto the empty chair with a grunt. There's something red and metal-smelling dripping from Mev's nose, and he grimaces.

"Clever," He spits. "But you're only making this worse for yourself." He pulls something from his pocket, and Arlot recognizes one as the gag that Mev had used on him for one of the Glasshouse videos, and the other is a tube of something, which Arlot eyes nervously. "Open up."

Arlot clenches his jaw tight, turning his head away from Mev's attempts. The man sighs, and sets down the tube to tug at the hem of his pyjama shorts, tearing them apart at the seam with one deft motion. Hands ruck his shirt up, pulling it so it bunches just above his collarbone. The air in the office is as cold as ever, and Arlot shudders, blinking rapidly and trying unsuccessfully to headbutt Mev again. He refuses to cry, no matter how desperate or frightened he feels.

One hand brushes his jaw, and Arlot snaps at it, teeth closing just shy of a thumb. Canines click together, and Mev tuts.

"If you're going to behave like an animal, then I'm going to treat you like one." He squeezes a dollop of something green from the tube, and even from where he's bound Arlot can smell something herbal and sharp. Somewhat familiar. Mev smears it over his chest, laving each nipple with care and massaging it into his skin. "You know, Neivs go into heat, isn't that right?"

Arlot clenches his mouth shut tighter, Mev continues as though they're having a gentle conversation on the weather, applying another generous application of ointment to the insides of Arlot's thighs. "Only certain Neivs, of course. It depends on how many men or women are currently present and how many children are already in the village. But I've read that if there is an imbalance of males and females, then some males will go into estrus. Isn't that right?"

He runs an ointment-slick knuckle up Arlot's slit, then reaches to massage his folds. Arlot hisses again, curling his spine in an attempt to move away, and Mev chases him. Blood is still dripping from his nose, staining his shirt collar. "In some way, you're comparable to a dog. You'll bite and bark now, but when the time comes you'll be nothing more than a bitch in heat. Isn't that right?" He slicks more of the paste onto Arlot's cock, encouraging it to full stand. "I thought you didn't have any fight in you, but I guess I was wrong."

The tube is half-empty. Instead of smearing more, Mev presses the opening to Arlot's hole and empties it there, making the Neiv squeak and hiss, twisting in the ropes that hold his legs apart. It's a strange sensation, the not-quite liquid substance sitting in a lump inside him until Mev presses fingers inside to smear it on his inner walls, the slide and stretch easy.

"It's very difficult to induce a heat in Neivs without the presence of some other, bigger Neivian males," Mev hums, rotating his wrist in a slow circle as Arlot bites back a groan. "But there are ways to mimic the effect. If they go long enough without a good fuck, for example. Some kinds of parasitic fevers. And a certain plant that grows on their native planet. They use it to treat stomach aches, but if they take a big enough dose..."

The realization is slow, but it hits Arlot like a wave. Now he understood why the strange green paste had smelled so familiar, and his mouth goes dry. The ropes have already chafed into his skin, but he struggles more, suddenly desperate. Mev wipes his hand on the remains of Arlot's shorts and stands up, a satisfied smile on his face.

"The effects of the medicine I filled you with are slow. But they're strong." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out several silver spheres, each small enough to fit comfortably in his palm. He presses one into Arlot's hole, and it enters slowly, then with a slight pop. "You know how to be enthusiastic, you're just choosing not to. Out of what, rebellion? Anger?" Another sphere, clicking against the first one and pressing it deeper. Arlot stifles a whine. "If you're so unwilling to be fucked, then fine. Today you won't have to fuck anyone."

The third and final sphere is pressed in with the heel of Mev's palm. Arlot can feel them shifting inside him, sliding and distorting him like so many intruding eggs. Already the last one threatens to slide back out, before Mev reaches down and grabs the loose end of the rope, fastening it to the knot on Arlot's chest and tightening it so it digs between his folds, holding the spheres in. Mev seems satisfied, and stands up, pulling the tie from his neck.

"You can hate me as much as you want, Fay," He murmurs, and for an instant his face softens. "But I do this for your sake as much as mine. You're too good an investment for me to let go now. If you apologize and tell me you'll be good, I'll let you go shower and clean yourself off, with no other penalty."

Arlot spits at his feet. "Go die."

"Well. I gave you a chance." Mev sighs, and loops the tie around Arlot's head, blotting his vision into darkness.

* * *

Arlot has never experienced a heat before. He's only heard outlandish tales of it, passed down by the older teenagers when he was younger and then vague descriptions in passing by adults. Once, he thought he might've heard someone in heat, but it could've just have easily been a wounded Yack-dog in the night.

But the first sensation he's aware of is the itching. It pervades like a ghost, tickling over his chest and thighs and every place the ointment had touched, settling there and then refusing to let go. Arlot shifts in the ropes, teeth gritted. This was fine. He could handle this.

Then the itching became something stronger. Harder to ignore. It felt like he was on fire, his skin burning up and eating its way towards his core, making sweat bead through the thin layer of ointment. His nipples stand stiffly, burning hot despite the cool air, aching for attention. He's sure his cock has never been harder in his life. Worst of all was his cunt, still tingling like an itch he couldn't scratch and making him shift, just to feel the spheres inside him move as well for some slight relief.

And then the arousal came, like a punch to the gut.

It was a gradual, if gradual happened within the span of seconds. But Arlot was suddenly aware of the slick that was building, sliding between his cheeks to soak into the chair. He grinds upwards, desperate for the slight friction offered by the rope. Suddenly, everything felt good-the drag of the ropes, the scrape of the chair against his back, the roll of the spheres. He curves his back, thrusting his chest upwards, teeth sunk in his bottom lip to keep from moaning.

Somewhere, he hears Mev chuckle, and then-

He screams. The spheres had jerked to life, vibrating against each other with quiet little clicks, and the sensation is _indescribable._ He's not sure if the vibrations are very high, or if every nerve is suddenly amplified, but his legs tremble in his bindings, and he rolls his hips the best he could, chasing the sensation. It's a lot, but it's not enough, he needs more-

The vibrations stop. He thinks he could cry in loss, when Mev takes that lapse to shove the gag between his teeth, fastening it smartly. "I'll take it off later, but I've a few calls to make and I need you to be seen and not heard." He says, and Arlot hates how his face unconsciously turns to press into Mev's hand, desperate for touch. "Be good, and maybe I'll let you come."

Arlot doesn't miss the 'maybe'. He lets out a muffled sob, as the vibrations pitch and then crest downwards again, just as fast. Not enough, not enough.

* * *

At some point, Mev must have noticed the lack of attention on his chest, because there are hands, suddenly. Rolling his nipple between fingers, making Arlot whine. He's too far gone for words, now, even if the gag was off, and all he can do is beg wordlessly, moaning and curling his spine to push his chest outwards, like an offering.

Soft lips caress the peak of one, and Arlot feels it like another electric shock that goes straight to the base of his spine, and he keens. And that's all the encouragement Mev must have needed, because then his tongue swirls around the quivering nub, and his nails scrape over the other, and Arlot thinks, foolishly, that he might die if this kept up, because it should be impossible for him to feel this good from just this.

"Look at you," Mev murmurs against his chest. "So good. So responsive. Maybe I should just pump you full of these meds and let people fuck you like that. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Punctuated by a teasing pull at a nipple, and Arlot sobs. "Being fucked all day long by strangers? Giving some relief to this aching hole of yours?"

Arlot shakes his head, denying it, even if his the shake of his hips and the sudden gush of slick betrayed him. Mev chuckles. "At least this part of you is honest."

And then Mev pulls away, with a final teething bite, and Arlot mourns the loss of the touch, crying and shaking. He needs it. He'll die without it, he's sure now.

Mev laughs again, and something pinches his nipples-not something warm and living, but something stiff and plastic. Clamps, most likely, and they bite down on the sensitized buds, a poor imitation of what Mev had given him moments before.

The vibrators jump back to life. The clamps jump with them.

If not for the gag, Arlot's sure he would've alerted anyone in a mile radius with his scream.

* * *

He's not sure how long it's been. Hours? Days? Only minutes?

Whatever the case, he knows he may very well go insane. The vibrators jump from low to high without any warning. His thighs are chafed and aching from rubbing against the ropes. Every inch of his skin burns and freezes at the same time, burning from inside and freezing from the open air. He's quite sure he's ruined the office hair permanently, with how much he's leaked all over it. Drool covers his chin, and every now and then he'll fall, boneless and limp, only to be urged back by a sudden intensity in his cunt and on his chest, which would fade off too quickly to promise release.

At some point, Mev must have taken a call. Maybe several. Arlot only knows because he caught snippets of the conversation as Mev toyed with him, running hands down his body, tugging at the ropes or pulling at the clamps, as if Arlot's sounds were only background music or white noise. Once or twice, Mev would pull the rope aside and press fingers into his pussy, thrusting just slightly to give Arlot a taste of what he wanted but not enough. Throwing fuel onto a fire that had nowhere to go. Once or twice, he had reached and circled a tight grip around Arlot's cock, breaking off any chance of orgasm. Any murderous thought Arlot could have were chased away by the torturous teasing of the vibrators of Mev's ministrations.

And all he could think about was how much it hurt. How much he wanted something in him, something satisfying. He would get on his knees and beg if he could, if only to be allowed free use of his hands so he could deal with it himself. Or maybe Mev would fuck him, though the thought horrified the weakened rational part of his brain. Maybe Mev would fuck him right over this chair, or over that desk of his, until Arlot was filled with another man's come and the burning stopped.

* * *

He's hardly aware when the gag is removed, pulled from his aching jaw. Or when a cloth cleans up the drool around his mouth and the sweat on his brow, or when the ropes are loosened (but not undone).

He's a little more aware when he gets pulled from the chair onto the soft carpet, cradled in someone's arms, and the lip of a cup is being pressed to his mouth. "Come on, Fay. Drink up. It's water." Someone says, encouragingly, and it is. Cool and refreshing and he didn't even know he was parched until he can't stop drinking, not until the cup is empty.

He's still hot. He's still unsatisfied, still aroused with no relief and with nothing to show for his efforts. The clamps are pulled from his chest and hands rub over them with the intent to soothe, though Arlot feels it like the farthest thing from soothing and makes a helpless sound. The ropes are undone and the vibrators are pulled from his pussy, though they mostly slide out themselves with the help of all that slick. His hole clenches on nothing, and he wishes for something, so desperate and out of it that he's not even sure how to clearly describe what he wants. If he was asked he'd probably just get on his knees and tilt his hips to the air.

"You're probably dying for it, aren't you," Someone murmurs, and Arlot nods. "Shame. I don't fuck any of my workers, though maybe I'd make an exception for you."

 _Oh stars, please, please yes-_ is what he wants to say, but all he can manage is a moan and more nodding. He turns and presses his face into a broad chest, taking a deep breath. Sweat and warmth and cologne and the scent of living, and he moans, pulling his legs spread even though the very effort is exhausting.

"Alright. Alright, I hear you." He's rolled over, pushed onto knees and elbows, and he makes a noise of assent at this, tilting his ass upwards in an invitation. Yes, yes, yes, this is what he wants, what he needs. Without any order, he arches his back, his cheek to the floor. He can be good, he wants this. The air is thick with the smell of himself, of something green, and the other man in the room.

 _Mev,_ something in his mind supplies, but it's so far gone that Arlot hardly notices.

The first breach of a finger inside him is enough to make him gasp, and buck backwards against the other hand holding his hip. There's a chuckle, and two more quickly join the first, setting into a steady rhythm. Filling the room with slick, obscene sounds, and Arlot's own high-pitched whines, begging for more. Four fingers now, pressing up to the hilt with every push and scissoring leisurely against the heated flesh inside, and Arlot feels his eyes roll upwards. It's good, it's still not enough.

"You want more, don't you?" The hand pauses. "Look at you. All sloppy and open. You're usually as tight as a virgin, but I bet you can take my whole fist. Do you want to try it? Do you want that?" A soothing palm runs against the small of his back. "Such a good boy for me. Such a good bitch."

The hand moves again, except different. The widest base of it pushes against his hole, applying pressure at a mountain's pace, and Arlot holds his breath. He'd rut back and take it, all of it, but that thought is stopped before it could become action by the hand that grips the back of his neck. "Be good for me, Fay."

He can be good, he _wants_ to be good, _please-_

The hand slides in, and the suction suddenly envelops the whole of it. Arlot gasps, and, _oh,_ the itch dissipates like a ghost and he nearly comes then and there, spasming around the intrusion and rocking back and forth on his knees, fucking himself by mere millimeters. It's not as good as a cock, and it's definitely nothing like a knot, but it's as thick as one and Arlot will take what he can get.

Then the hand begins to thrust, and Arlot could very well be in heaven.

He's not sure if he screams. He doesn't care if he does. The hand spears him, thrusting slowly and gaining speed. Arlot could feel every knuckle roll against every live-wire nerve, making him melt into sparks. His back aches from being curved so tightly, like a coiled spring, but he doesn't relax, instead tilting back to meet each push and to rub his swollen nipples against the carpet, as rough as sandpaper against the over-sensitive skin and making his toes curl.

A weight drapes over his back. The hand pauses, then twists. Viciously. Another grip wraps around his forgotten cock and pulls, and Arlot howls.

"Come for me," the voice orders.

Arlot can't do anything but obey.

* * *

There are welts and lines drawn in his skin by the ropes. There's a lingering tingle in his chest and thighs. His pussy feels rubbed raw, and there's a soreness reaching deep inside him.

Mev pulls the tear-soaked tie from his face and presses a kiss to his brow, chaste and loving.

"I knew you had it in you," He murmurs into Arlot's hair, before tilting his chin up to press another, deeper kiss on bitten-raw lips. "So good. So perfect."

Arlot closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mev: whatever im sick of this bitch  
> ran: /exists and is good/  
> mev: arlot is the only cool thing i own and im gonna make sure he knows it


	8. Work Slacker from the Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly...not a lot of sexy stuff?
> 
> A little bit of worldbuilding: wrist-projectors are the equivalent of a cell phone in this universe. If I had known that I was going to be expanding the story like this, I would've chosen a less stupid design to be their primary source of data-sharing and communication instead of giving them Apple Watch 2: Electric Boogaloo.

He needs to get out of there.

Money be damned, Arlot couldn't stand to be there anymore, not while knowing Mev could find him at any time, with all the precise knowledge of how best to ruin him. Every day was a blur of customers and fear. Arlot was sure he stank of fear, especially when Mev was around. And though the man never made any attempt to be near him, the very glimpse of him set Arlot off, left him trembling and harsh of breath.

The card in his pocket. Ran Doma, the kind man from the train. Arlot didn't think he was rich - at least, not enough to promise a life of comfort and salvation, like Prin was after - but maybe he would be willing to help. If not pay for Arlot's termination fee, then to shelter him while Arlot tried to pay it himself. Or until Arlot could arrange for a ship to take him away.

On his next free day off, he gets up as early as he dares and dons a dark pair of pants and soft shirt, and the boots he had come to the planet wearing. All his useful clothes go into a little bag. His wrist-projector (which hardly worked anyways, the signal in the underground layers was so terrible) goes on his wrist All the credits he dared to withdraw without drawing attention to himself go in secret, inner pocket sewn on the inside of his poncho.

It's a rainy day. The rain on this planet was different from how it was back home, always laced with something chemical-smelling and acidic. If Arlot lets a drop touch his hand, he can see the water clouded with filth. But that meant that there was less people out, so he walks out with the pretense of going to the upper layers for some shopping and then runs, dodging the few beings who loiter on the street with rain pelting his head.

He makes it to the station and finds an empty seat on the train. He makes it to the upper layer station and locates a pay-per-use holo-call station, and his hands shake as he types in the calling ID at the bottom. Everything seems to stop as he waits for the call to be parsed, feeling his lungs shake with the effort of holding his breath.

And then a bewildered voice replies. "Hello-?"

"Oh, uh," Arlot coughs, trying to force his heartbeats and breathing into something normal. "Hello. Yes, hello, um. Is this Ran Doma?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"My name is Ar-" He hesitates. It's unwise to give out his real name, not yet. "Ar, ah...Arrrly. You, uh, you helped me on the train a week or so ago."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did. I was-" He's not sure if Ran helped out assaulted train-goers on the daily, or if the incident had entirely passed the man's mind. "I was the one who said I'd mutiny against you."

"Oh, I did!" Ran Doma laughs. "That's right. I didn't think you were gonna call me, but hey! What's going on?"

"Um, nothing...nothing terrible. Is it alright if I...I'm not sure how to say this." Arlot laughs nervously. "But-where are you right now? Do you think I can meet with you? Just to talk?"

"Now?"

"Please. Or maybe as soon as you can. I don't know anyone else on this planet, and I don't know where to go, and I'm reallysorryforcallingyoubut-"

"Okay! Okay, hey, it's cool," Ran says quickly, surprised. "It's fine. Uh, do you know where the docks are?"

The docks? He struggles to remember, but the last docking location he had seen was when he first arrived, and was located in the underbelly layers. "No, sorry. Is that upper layer?"

"Yeah. Okay, how about this. Do you know the Rint? That big fashion store in the middle of the biggest street in the downtown? All lights and windows and stuff?"

He did, actually. Prin had pointed it out, though they hadn't bothered to go inside. Too expensive, apparently. "Yes?"

"Okay. Go down there and wait in the lobby. I'll meet you there." There's a shuffle, like someone getting up. "Sound good?"

"Yes."

"Good. See you later, Arly."

And that was it. Arlot watches the hologram dissolve, his time up. Why had he just done that? He had no plan, he didn't even know if he could trust Ran. They were strangers who had had a nice conversation, and that was all.

But he can't turn back now.

* * *

The Rint is a glamorous, gaudy place, lit up by chandeliers and beautiful crystal sculptures and fountains. Arlot feels very out of place, in only his ratty old poncho from back home and standing awkwardly around, trying to avoid eye contact with the security guard that was growing more and more suspicious by the minute.

Not for very long, though. After a few moments, Ran appears, out of breath but with his characteristic smile on his face. He looks as ridiculous as ever, though maybe he's dressed a little nicer, the worker's jacket thrown over a dark sweater and a pair of black trousers. His hair is still a mess.

"Ah, Arly! He says, and waves enthusiastically. Arlot waves shyly back, and the security guard looks no less irked. "Hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, no. I was-thank you for coming." He fidgets, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Did I-pull you away from work?"

"Eh. Not really." He shrugs vaguely. "It's all dull work. I'm not smart enough to do anything number-ly, so all I have to do is make sure no one tries to steal the shipment and oversee some transports."

"Oh. Sorry for pulling you away from it, anyways."

"Nah. I should be thanking you for it." Ran casts a look around at their surroundings, all ritzy and shine, with something like distaste. "You wanna get outta here? Before that security guard decides to call the cops."

The guard did look close to doing just that. Arlot nods eagerly. "Please."

* * *

They end up in the booth of a cluttered little bar, sparse of patrons and employees that didn't look bored. A loud sports announcer rambles in the background from a holo-show in the corner. Ran orders a drink Arlot doesn't recognize and a plate of breads and dippings. Arlot orders water and, at Ran's insistence, a bowl of soup. He's not very hungry.

"So," Ran says, around a mouthful. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

Arlot swirls his spoon in his soup. He had been dreading this question; though it was a very hard question to avoid. He wasn't sure if he should tell the truth; paranoia ate at every bone in his body, and he didn't know Ran well enough to trust him. For all Arlot knew, the man would simply send him back to Glasshouse, or report him to the police to be dealt something worse.

"I..." He swallows dryly and takes a sip of his water. "I need your help."

"Yes, I gathered as much." Ran hums. "I wouldn't have come out here if I didn't think that was the case, so. What do you need?"

Arlot blinks. Ran had not said 'why me' or 'with what' or the ever-dreaded 'no', but instead asked immediately what Arlot needed. He flounders for words.

"I need..." _To get out of here. To hide. A ride off of this planet and all the people on it._ Ran is looking at him expectantly. "...A new job."

"A job?"

He's not sure why he said that, and he curses himself inwardly. Now Ran was going to think he was stupid, and dramatic, and needy for calling him out just to ask after a _job_. "...Well, maybe not quite a job. But-I have a debt, I guess you could say, and I need to pay it, and my options are 'run away' or 'work it off'."

"How big a debt?" Ran asks, and Arlot shakes his head with a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Too big for me to ask for money. I know, this is a ridiculous request-I hardly know you, and you hardly know me-but I can't stay at my current job for much longer and I'm afraid that running away would just cause more problems." He looks down at his soup. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't apologize. It's an under-layer thing, right? Your debt?" And when Arlot nods, he sighs. "Yeah, figured. Those kind of debts are shady as hell, and damn near impossible to pay off with just under-layer work. I get it. I'll help you."

"You will?"

"Sure. I've seen that sort of shit happen all my life, was lucky enough to never have to deal with it myself though." He takes a sip of his drink, and smiles. The froth sticks to his upper lip. "I can help you find a job, just tell me what you're looking for."

Relief like Arlot had never felt rushes through him, and he feels his shoulder sag as tension leaves him. He feels light-headed with the elation, and it takes an effort to gather his thoughts into something coherent. "Thank you. Just-thanks. It really means a lot, I don't know what to say."

Ran is quiet. When Arlot looks up, the man has a strange look on his face, eyes a little wide and blinking. Something pink is crawling up his stubbled cheeks, and he clears his throat quickly, suddenly averting his gaze. "Right. Right, yeah it's. It's no problem."

"I think you're one of the nicest people I've ever met."

"Wow, you have not met a lot of people have you?" Ran chuckles, and Arlot thinks: _Yes, I have. But only the worst._ "Well, about that job. Is there anything you want to do, specifically? Or anything you know you're good at doing?"

"I'm kinda...lacking in traditional job experience. But I came to this planet in the first place to work in accounting." A bitter smile twists across his lips. Had that really been his original plan? It feels so long ago. "I have a resume, though. In this-" He holds up his wrist-projector. "I can send it out so long as I'm on the upper levels. It doesn't get reception where I usually am"

"Accounting? So you're good with numbers?"

"Yeah. Seems to be the only thing I'm good at, to be honest. Couldn't make it far as a farmer, so I figured I'd turn to a calculator instead."

"Farming?"

"Yeah. Everyone in my family is dedicated to farming, but I just wasn't made for that. 'Thin as a stick and half as tough,' as my brothers might say." Arlot says, in as best a mimicry of his oldest brother's voice as he could manage. Ran's eyes stray to his exposed wrist at that, the joint slender and pale. "And I like numbers. I'm good with them."

"Bit of a nerd, aren't you?" Ran mutters, eyebrow quirked.

"Now, don't you start."

Ran smiles.

"No worries. I was never able to figure out my two's from my one's, so I have utmost respect for the numerically gifted." Ran tugs up his sleeve to reveal his own wrist-projector, the thing black and sleek, in comparison to Arlot's shoddy one. "And you're in luck. The firm I work with is in need for someone in their accounting department so-here. Give me your hand-"

Arlot extends his hand, feels his heartbeats stutter as Ran's fingers close neatly over his wrist, overlapping forefinger over thumb before tugging him a little closer. It's ridiculous, really, and he screams internally at himself for getting so flustered at such a simple point of contact. There was some kind of painful irony to it, getting so worked up over something some simple while getting bedded most days of the week, but Ran was so _gentle_. It was a completely foreign feeling.

Ran touches the projectors together, and a few moments later there's the tell-tale chime of a connection, and Arlot's hand is released. He doesn't withdraw it though, letting it linger there on the warmth of another person for just an instant longer, all while still scolding himself. But if Ran had noticed, he didn't comment.

"There. Now you should have my personal contact info." He taps something into the little screen on his forearm, and Arlot's device chirps with a new message. _Hello, mutinus strngr :)_ "I'll send you the contacts of the hiring manager, and you can negotiate further from there."

"Can I throw your name into the interview for some extra attention?" Arlot teases.

"Sure, if you think mentioning the name of the guy who runs late to all his shifts is gonna help you." Ran quips back. "But how's that for help?"

"Your services are unmatched." His stomach gurgles quietly. For the first time in a while, he feels unbothered, without the near-constant fog of anxiety that hung over him back at Glasshouse. His appetite had returned suddenly, and he pick up his spoon with a new interest. "You're really the best person on this whole planet."

And there it was again. The pink flush on Ran's cheeks and the sudden turning away. Arlot caught only a glimpse of it, but it was undeniable.

"We-ll," Ran says, voice pitched a little strangely before he coughs and takes a quick swig of his drink. "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Are you going back to work?" Arlot asks.

"Ha, no. They can manage fine without me." Ran snorts, like the idea of going back was inconceivable. "I'm just a figurehead, really. The most I do is sign some documents and approve some transports, I can't really be trusted with anything much more...detailed than that?"

"Oh?"

"The company I work for belongs to my family. I'm expected to take over at some point, but." He shrugs. "Like I said earlier. I'm shit with numbers. Tried to learn, got nowhere. So I'm in charge of an inconsequential branch of the company because they're hoping I might pick something up from experience, but so far it's just me slacking off and bribing my employees with free dinners not to report me."

"Oh. Sorry to bring it up."

"Nah, it's not a sore topic. Just facts." He shrugs again, waving it off. "But enough about me. What about you? Or should I just know you as 'mysterious stranger with a name?'"

"You already know I came from a farming community. And that I'm a nerd with numbers. If anything, I should be asking more about you, because you're still 'work slacker from the train' to me." And Ran places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

"All that, and i'm still just 'work slacker'. Give me a little credit, I'm a 'professional work slacker'." Ran sighs. "Anyways. If you don't have anything else to do today...I know I don't. How much of the city have you seen?"

* * *

Ran is a gambler, as Arlot finds out. A gambler who was excellent with cards and table betting but tragically awful at anything involving gambling machines. He's also a man with an affinity of loud music and a softness for small animals, a man with a sweet tooth and an intolerance for anything spicier than cinnamon, and a man with a terrible eye for fashion. He's an only child, his father is twice-married, and the last time he got drunk was at a cousin's wedding that took place at a high-ranking resort on one of the nearby moons, and he is banned from that resort for life. He had a bit of a 'spoiled playboy phase', as he calls it, but he came away from it fine with a talent with cards and a dislike for prostitutes.

The last thing surprises Arlot, and he finds himself dreading what he'll hear when he asks: "Why's that?"

Ran's face pulls into something like a grimace. "Don't care for them, is all. Call me biased, but it just feels perverse and lazy to me."

Arlot keeps his mouth shut, feeling something sick building in his skull. Granted, those were the same thoughts he had had on the career before; but it makes it no better to hear it come from Ran's mouth.

"Arly? You alright?"

"Great," Arlot croaks. He shakes off the apprehension; Ran doesn't need to know. "Just trying to imagine you as a spoiled rich playboy."

"Is it that hard to believe?"

"With your clothing choices? Absolutely."

And then they fall into banter again, much to Arlot's relief.

It was quickly fading into evening, and by the time they began to make their way to the station their topic had fallen upon racing, and how Ran was currently working on building his own speeder; "It's not going to be a very good speeder," He admits, as they're walking past the brightly-colored signs of downtown. "But that's not going to matter. It's going to be my first, and so long as I can get it working, that means I can also get it improved however I want."

Arlot nods. He doesn't see the appeal in racing, and any attempts to join his brother's races on the harvesters back home always left him a little breathless and weak-kneed from the speed. But Ran is bright-eyed and animated, hands gesturing despite the cooling evening air, and Arlot suddenly finds himself asking: "Did you learn to build it yourself?"

"Yeah! Was supposed to be learning the strings of business while I was doing so, but. Who cares about that stuff?" It was really cold at night. Without the three suns, Arlot could see his breath beginning to fog, and he wonders if he was any braver, if he could reach out and grab Ran's hand. "If they really want me to take over the business, I'll give it away. Or hire someone to run it for me. Because stars know I'm just gonna crash it if I try myself."

"That's a pretty tragic business ethic."

"Isn't it? Which is why I shouldn't be running it!" They're walking beneath the red-and-gold lights of a tall building, a cinema, and across the street Arlot could see the station. "Here we are. Got your pass? Got your stuff?"

"Right." Here they were. Arlot had been dreading this since they left the restaurant, dreading the idea of returning back to the place he had been planning to run away from that morning. He was still going to run away, but he had a smarter plan in place. And someone in his corner. _If I was any braver, I'd ask him to take me away right now._

"Arly? You alright?"

"Yes." The crosswalk signals lights up with the indication to cross, but Arlot turns around. He doesn't want to go back, not yet. He wants this to last as long as it can. "Ran I-"

 _If I was_ really _brave, I'd kiss him right now,_ Arlot thought. _Or if I was really crazy_. Ran tilts his head expectantly. He looks a little silly, standing above Arlot with his face nearly blotted out by the cinema sign behind him, barely illuminated by the holographic green of the crosswalk. "Yes?"

"Can I-" He swallows. "Can I ki-"

The roaring of an engine cuts him off, and suddenly a wind of exhaust and gasoline is buffeting their faces. Arlot turns and sees the blaring red and blue lights of a police patrol speeder besides them, the whooping alarm cutting off abruptly.

Arlot feels his heart sink with the step of a heavy boot onto the sidewalk, and then Rex emerges from the little vehicle, almost comically too big for it. "Evening," He grunts, and at the sound of his voice Arlot cringes, shuffling a little behind Ran.

"Evening, officer." Ran replies evenly. He doesn't look bothered. Surprised, maybe, but unbothered. "Everything all right?"

"Just fine. I'm just here on the favor of an old friend," Rex chuckles, and Arlot feels his blood turn to ice. "Hey, Fay. Your boyfriend is waiting for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry whoops
> 
> aw man now im gonna feel sad writing abt arlot getting wrecked
> 
> i wanna draw art of the blue boy hm


	9. Bad boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, all noncon :/
> 
> vaginal fingering, spit as lube, come as lube, object insertion, double penetration, throat-fucking (is that a thing? i just made it a thing). could this chapter be considered mild body-horror? physically speaking arlot's going to make a complete recovery. mentally speaking? ehhh
> 
> (Go to the bottom notes for some brief species explanations it's just me talking about dicks for a while)

"Sorry?" Ran asks, and Rex grins.

"You heard it. The little fellow behind your back needs to come with me." He drawls, casting a lazy glance at Arlot. "Come on, sweetheart. We need to take a ride to the station. Your boyfriend is waiting, he's been worried sick."

Arlot can hardly move. He feels like he's frozen, afraid to look up at Ran, who had suddenly tensed besides him. "I-I don't have a boyfriend," He says, trying to salvage something.

"Sure you do. And he's real worried about you. You ran out on him this morning." Rex smiles with the the contentment of a predator toying with prey. "You're lucky I had the free time to do him the favor. Now come on. I'm giving you a ride home."

Arlot glances up at Ran, who stares straight ahead at Rex with a strange, unreadable expression. "Ran, wait-"

"Come on, sweetheart. We don't want to keep him waiting, now do we?"

Ran finally turns, and Arlot feels something in his chest sink. The man looks hurt, mouth pinched into a thin line. "Arly..." He says quietly. "I'll see you around."

"Ran-!"

Rex grabs him by the wrist and drags him a little closer, wrapping a jovial arm around his shoulders. "Go on, say 'goodbye' to your friend here. You're already in trouble, aren't you?"

He isn't even given the opportunity to say goodbye, before he was suddenly pushed into the front seat of the patrol vehicle. Ran stays where he is, looking on with a sad sort of wave. Rex settles heavily behind the steering and pats Arlot's thigh, like a crude imitation of reassurance.

"Not to worry, slut." Rex grins, as his hand crawls up to rest over Arlot's crotch, a teasing finger running over the shape of his slit. Arlot hisses and pushes Rex away, much to the human's amusement. "We'll take care of you."

* * *

He's left to wait in an interrogation room, and told to do so until Mev arrives.

On the one hand, at least he's left alone. The only other being he can see is his reflection in the two-way mirror, scared and shivering beneath freezing vents. On the other hand, he's terrified, because he's not sure how much longer he'll be left alone. He had seen the hungry glances the police officers had given him as Rex dragged him through the building, the openness with which they watched him.

(It was hard to imagine, but a traitorous part of him began to hope that Mev arrived soon.)

The reinforced door behind him slides open, and Arlot turns just in time to see two officers walk in. One is a standard police android, stiff and precise and silent and nearly blinding in its chrome plating; and the other is a willowy being with a unreadable look on their face and slender limbs, and two pairs of arms. Arlot only vaguely recognizes the species; one of the rare few naturally occurring species that was incapable of experiencing typical emotions, and reproducing naturally. Arlot takes hope at that.

"Up," The android says stiffly, and Arlot complies, arms crossed over his chest. His poncho had been confiscated the moment he had stepped through the entrance, along with all his things. "Against the wall."

As Arlot places his hands against the cement, he feels the android begin to probe, round claw-like limbs prodding around his torso, waist, and hips. A customary pat-down. Nothing to panic about, but Arlot holds his breath until its over, trying to keep his knees from knocking together when they pass briefly over his chest.

"Clear." The android recites in a monotone.

"Stay in the position," The being barks in a low husk, and Arlot freezes. More hands, this time organic, pass over him, brushing over him from beneath his arms to his hips. One ghosts over his ass, and he flinches, fighting to hold still.

 _They can't feel,_ he thinks reassuringly. They couldn't feel. They had no reason to hurt or touch him.

Hands reach up-and grip his wrists tightly, pressing them harder against the wall. Before Arlot could react, his pants were being shoved down and shirt being shoved up simultaneously, and suddenly he felt all the more colder, as burning-hot palms skated across the exposed skin, one reaching down to cup his mound and the other reaching up to take a nipple and pinch it, viciously.

Arlot screams, and lurches against the hold. But the officer presses their front to his back, effectively trapping him against the wall. Tears spring to his eyes, and he shakes, desperate. "No, no, I can't-mmph!"

Fingers are pressed into his mouth, the joints ridged like the scaled plates of a reptile, and tasting strongly of engine oil and salt. Arlot chokes, jerking his head backwards, but the appendages follow, pressing deeper to brush the soft palate in the back of his throat and making him gag. Meanwhile, the other hand tears his pants down further, before reaching up to burrow between his folds and press against his hole.

 _No, there's no way-_ Arlot thinks, desperate. He's never taken anything dry before, and the officer's fingers were, while slender, very harshly shaped. His legs shake and he presses them together to the best of his ability. "Nnn-nn-!"

The officer pushes his knees apart with their own leg, and drives two of their fingers up. Arlot shrieks, the pain immediate-burning and unwanted, rubbing harshly against the soft flesh and digging deeper, his hole struggling to accommodate the sudden intrusion and the rough shape. He bites down, and the only reaction he gets is a cruel imitation of a laugh, like metal dragging on stone.

"Customary search," They rasp thickly, with another sudden press up into him, and Arlot whimpers. " 'an't have any hiding places unchecked."

The fingers in his pussy scissor, and Arlot thinks he blacks out with how much the stretch hurts. His legs refuse to hold his weight with how much they shake - he is supported solely by his wrists, held against the wall. A warm, thorny tongue curls up against his cheek, swiping away his tears.

And then he is released. The intrusions in his mouth and cunt are removed in one movement, and he's dropped to the floor, his pants still tangled around his knees and shirt still rucked up. There's that same, barking laugh, and the door hums with the indication that they've left.

Arlot doesn't know if he has any strength to stand up in again, shaking as he is. There's a deep hurt in him, not unlike the time Mev had slicked him with that herbal aphrodisiac, but this time it's harsher and less like an itch to be scratched and more like a burn needed to be soothed. 

He pulls his clothes back up around him as best he can and shuffles himself to the corner, arms wrapped around his knees.

* * *

The next person is Rex, who chuckles when he sees Arlot curled up in the corner. A large, black baton rests on his hip. An unlit pipeweed smoker sits between his lips.

"Wox must have done a number on you, eh?" He crouches down to Arlot's eye level, a grin hidden in unruly beard. "Funny thing about Wox and his species; they can't feel anything, technically, but they can still enjoy things. 'Cuz otherwise, why bother living?" He reaches out and brushes a hand over Arlot's cheek, catching on the dried tears there. "And while his species can't orgasm like you and I, he's got a hell of a sadism streak."

"I want," Arlot says, waveringly. "To leave."

The corner of Rex's smile twitches. "Leave? Why? I told you, Mev was coming to pick you up from here. There's no reason for you to go."

"I want," Arlot says again, more forcefully. "To leave. Or to be left alone."

"Afraid not, sweetheart." Rex grabs Arlot's chin and tilts his face up. "You were caught soliciting a citizen in the upper district. You're a suspect, and you've got to stay here until someone comes to bail you out."

Arlot jerks his head from Rex's grip and slaps his hand away. "I was _not_ soliciting anyone," He snaps. "And I'm not some-some kind of child to wait for a parent to pick me up. I'll take the train."

"I think not. You don't have that kind of authority here, sweetheart."

"I'm not your bloody sweetheart!"

He moves to shove Rex away, but Rex is fast, despite his size. Arlot's wrists are caught immediately, and Rex twists them slowly, making the Neiv cry out in pain. "I think you are," The man croons, leaning so close Arlot could feel his whiskers brushing his nose, and smell the smoke on his breath. "You're whatever I want you to be, _sweetheart,_ as long as I have you like this."

And then Arlot's being dragged to his feet and pushed to the center of the room. He stumbles, barely catching himself, and looks up; and feels his blood run cold. He hadn't even noticed before, but other officers had filed into the room, waiting silently in a line. Three of them: Wox from earlier, a Marrean man with sharp, cruel teeth, and a Wulfish, covered in coarse, dark hair and panting, breath fogging in the cold air.

And they were all staring. At Arlot.

"Mev said he was going to run a lil late," Rex hums, and Arlot can feel his breath, warm and wet against his neck. "So in the meantime, we're going to keep you entertained. So be a good little guest, alright?"

* * *

They stripped him, of course. Tore his shirt in half and shucked off his trousers and laughed as he screamed and kicked, his blows hardly phasing any of them. His arms are secured behind him with a pair of cuffs, and he's bent over the table with now preface or warning, the surface freezing against his skin. And there are hands, everywhere. Holding him down, holding his legs apart, fisting in his hair and slapping his flesh until he's dizzy.

He hardly gets warning before he feels something already tease against his hole, something huge and blunt and streaking precum between his cheeks before it comes to rest against his vaginal entrance. Arlot shakes his head, already terrified, hysteria freezing his scream in his throat and choking it down to a strained gasp. "It won't-it won't fit-"

And to his surprise, the cock pulls away. Rex, who stands by Arlot's head, frowns. "The hell do you think you're doing, Criq? You go in dry, you skin your dick. Are you a virgin or an idiot?"

"You were always talking about Neiv's being soft as hell. Figured I'd be fine," The Marrean, Criq, grumbles. "Fine. But I still call first dibs on it."

"Move over," Growls the Wulfish. Arlot cranes his head over his neck, trying to see what was happening. He sees a large, furry head dip below the table-he feels rough hands pinch his folds and pull them apart, and then-

He gasps. Something hot and wet presses to his entrance, dragging past his cock to rest at his hole, circling it lazily. He bucks helplessly, without intending to, and the Wulfish laughs, a hot puff of breath, before that tongue presses so suddenly into Arlot, all heat and deft muscle.

Arlot clenches his hands tight and bites his lip to keep from moaning. That doesn't stop his body from reacting, however, clenching down on that tongue as it squirms, laving at him, minute little bumps dragging over the sensitive walls and twisting unnaturally inside him. The sound is obscene, wet, and the others laugh cruelly as they watch, Arlot struggling beneath their hands.

Before Arlot can come, the tongue withdraws, leaving behind a lot of saliva and a strange, empty feeling. The Wulfish chuckles lowly, swiping his tongue over his lips. "How's that for wet?"

"Perfect." Rex nods approvingly, and Criq lines himself up again, cock pressing in with no preamble or hesitation, and Arlot shudders. It doesn't hurt as much if he had done it a few minutes earlier, but there's still a slight stretch, though it's definitely on the smaller side of things Arlot had had inside him. At once, the man sets into a rhythm, fast and rough, rocking a bruising line of the table's edge against Arlot's thighs.

Arlot closes his eyes and drops his head down. If it's just fucking him like this, that's fine. It wasn't so bad. But then something slaps against his face, and he looks up to Rex, cock out and being stroked to full thickness in a lazy hand. "Open up for me, sweetheart."

Arlot does, figuring if he got it over with sooner than later it'll be more bearable. Rex's cock stank, musk and piss and an artificial soap, and thick enough to stretch Arlot's lips wide. But he knows how to suck cock, had had to learn it at Glasshouse, so he relaxes and runs his tongue against the head and the vein, making Rex groan.

"That's a good bitch," he sighs, and the words make Arlot whimper. It echoes what Mev had said, and makes his blood run cold even as someone fucks into him. "Go on. Take all of it."

Rex presses deeper, precum dripping to the back of Arlot's tongue. It was almost at the entrance of his throat, and Arlot thinks: _It's impossible. There was no way._ There was no way Rex could push farther, not when half his cock already in Arlot's mouth.

But that was exactly what Rex intended, and Arlot felt the blunt head press against the tight muscles there and fucking them looser in minute little movements, as Arlot feels his air intake exponentially decrease. He shakes, frightened, and Rex fists his hair and chuckles, pulling back just a centimeter before ramming forward again, trying to breach his throat.

Arlot bucks, little panicked noises barely escaping his mouth. Behind him, Criq slows to watch. "Boss, aren't you afraid you'll kill him?" Someone asks.

"Nope," Rex replies happily. Arlot whines, and Rex moans. He must feel every sound made like a vibration against his cock. "Gonna fuck this whore's throat wide open. If he's meant to take cock, I'm gonna make sure he's made to take cock."

With another push, he sheaths the length of his cock in Arlot's throat. Arlot could hardly breathe, his vision was darkening dangerously fast. Rex adjusts his grip in his hair, and begins moving faster, balls slapping against Arlot's spit-soaked chin as Arlot struggled and spasmed, throat working helplessly around Rex's cock in a scream or a gasp. 

It feels like ages before he feels the twitch of Rex's orgasm, and then feels the gush of come down his throat. Rex pulls out with a wet sound, and Arlot chokes and swallows and gasps, ears ringing. The abused muscles in his neck contract, threatening to make him vomit until Rex reaches down and covers his mouth with a palm, pinching his nostrils shut.

"Take it, sweetheart." He snarls, and Arlot chokes it down with a shudder. He feels boneless, fucked out already. Something wet and cooling slides down his thigh, and distantly he realizes that Criq must have already finished. He hardly even noticed.

"My turn," The Wulfish says, clawed hands finding purchase on Arlot's ass and digging marks there. Rex leans leisurely against the table, coaxing his erection back while smearing the mess on Arlot's face with his dick.

* * *

He's not sure how long he's there, which was concerning.

He's not even sure how many times he'd gotten fucked. It seemed that each officer was set on having their way with him at least twice, putting him in all different positions and using the come of the previous man to slick their way. Against the wall, over the table, or pressed against the two-way mirror, face and chest squeaking with every push and making the others laugh.

It's a different kind of fucked-out that he hasn't experienced before. With Mev, he had been tortured and driven crazy, skin heated with the need to be touched, until the first orgasm he was finally given caused him to black out. He didn't get that kind of respite here-he's freezing cold, the harsh surfaces of the table, walls and window sucking away any heat from him, except for where there was a cock in him. There was never any purposeful intention to try and drag him to orgasm, and the one time he did, was because the Wulvish's cock was so thick and ribbed that every drag pulled on the most sensitive, nerve-ridden spots inside him, and it caught everyone by surprise when he finally came with a weak little whimper.

"Poor little slut," Someone had chuckled, immediately reaching down to toy with Arlot's cocklet, despite his protest. The hand was warm, rough, and as gentle as sandpaper on his overstimulated nerves, and he cries freely, thighs jerking at the touch.

By the time he's deposited on the table, he's a mess, shivering from the come and slick that cools fast on his skin. There are bite marks bruising on his neck and chest and thighs, and handprints against his hips and ass. He can hardly keep his eyes open. He wishes for his warm bed.

 _Even Mev's treatment was better than this,_ Arlot thinks, before shaking his head in sudden anger at the unbidden thought. No, he hated Mev. There was nothing about the man that was preferable to anything short of death.

The sole person who had not fucked him was Wox. The reptilian being had watched, something that might've been a smile on his face, and occasionally a rough and scaled finger might trail down Arlot's tear-streaked face or hold down his wrist or leg whenever he found a burst of energy to struggle. Now, lying unmoving on his side on the table, Arlot could feel Wox dipping fingers into him to scoop out the come deposited in him, the sensation making him tremble.

"Whatcha doin' there, Wox?" Someone asks.

"No thing. This hole looks lonely." The come-slick hand moves between his cheeks, circling the rim of Arlot's pucker. He doesn't understand why.

"Now, Wox, remember. This ain't our whore. No permanent marks." Rex's gravelly voice warns.

"No marks. No worries." Wox replies, and Arlot feels something smooth caress a cheek. "A nightstick is thin."

There's a chorus of chortling, a few exclamations of delighted surprise. Arlot feels the smooth tip of something pressing against his anus, and he gasps and tries to push himself onto his elbows. "W-ait," He pleads, voice rasped and ruined. "N-no-"

He looks behind him just in time to see Wox push up one of his legs, and to see the black length of a nightstick breaching him. It very thin, barely as thick as two thumbs pressed together, but Arlot feels it anyways. A smooth, unyielding intrusion that presses slowly, pushing into him until it reaches resistance, and then pushing some more as Arlot tries to shout but only manages a groan. Irrationally, he wonders if it will press up to lodge in his throat.

And then Wox stops. Arlot's crying again, hot tears tracking down his cold face. Rex taps the base of the nightstick, and it sends a slight vibration humming up its length that makes Arlot jolt. "Don't think adding another one would hurt. What do you think?"

"Nnn-" Arlot shakes his head, but already there's another pressure at his hole, and suddenly a soft click as another nightstick slides in along the first. Someone twists them, and a quiet, strangled sound leaves Arlot's chest. "Please-"

"Don't worry. We'll take care of this one, too." Rex paws at Arlot abused cunt, still oozing, and with his free hand reaches to his holster.

The sight of the gun doesn't stir Arlot at first. It's a big thing, the barrel as fat as his wrist and the length of his handspan. Between the ribs of the black barrel casing, Arlot could see the battery, glowing faintly blue and hypnotic. Rex takes him by the scruff and hoists him up, so that he is supported against Rex's front with his thighs in his grip, spread and hiding nothing.

"Let me do it," The Wulfish demands, and he takes the gun in one hand and spreads Arlot's folds in the other, while Wox begins to thrust the nightsticks in tandem, a slow, steady pattern. Arlot hardly has the ability to think, not until he sees the barrel of the gun press against his vaginal entrance, and the realization strikes fear in him.

"Please, no," But there's no heed paid to him. Someone grabs his hair and forces his face down, forcing him to watch as the gun breached him, segment by segment. Compared to Mev's forearm, the barrel is relatively small, but Arlot had been in heat and desperate. Right now he was cold and shaking his head tearfully, as the gun disappeared inside him. The Wulfish pauses to lean down and lick a stripe up Arlot's slit, enveloping his cock in a slick heat for an instant.

Soon, the glowing blue of the barrel is gone, and the Wulfish steps back to admire his progress. Arlot clenches weakly, and feels every metallic crease and bump against his over-stimulated walls. Wox was still fucking him with the batons, jolting the gun in the process and knocking against areas that should not be as sensitive or pleasurable as they were. Arlot shakes his head deliriously again, but there was no denying the warmth that was beginning to curl in his stomach, especially when the Wulfish leans down to lick at the head of his cock again, twisting the gun as he did. Pushing him towards an edge he didn't want to be on.

"Think the slut likes it," Someone laughs. Arlot shuts his eyes. Teeth were pressing to the junction of his neck and shoulder, a hot pinpoint of pressure that was quickly soothed by a tongue, and he tilts his head back to rest against Rex's shoulder, too exhausted to do much more than take it.

Someone twists the barrel of the gun again, and he tips over the edge and blacks out.

* * *

"Fucking... _eru,_ Rex, the fuck did you do," Mev sighs.

The interrogation room is a mess. Fay lies in the middle of it, curled on his side, covered in the fluids of other people and unconscious. Two nightsticks are buried in his ass, and when Mev nudges him onto his back his legs fall apart, revealing the gun still lodged in his cunt. 

"Eh...could you blame us?" Rex shrugs. Looking wholly unbothered by the state of the whore curled up in his interrogation chamber. "Most people don't get to fuck a Neiv. My boys went a little overboard."

Mev reaches down and takes the handles of the batons, and withdraws them in one quick movement. Fay barely reacts, face only twitching when Mev takes the handle of the gun.

It takes a little bit of careful maneuvering to slide the thing out, and Mev has to admit it takes more self-control than he's proud of not to molest Fay like this, especially when his mouth falls open in a little gasp as the barrel slips from his entrance, his hole closing on nothing. A deluge of come and slick follows it, and Mev sighs again.

"I said you could rough him up a little. Not completely ruin him." He slides the dark greatcoat from his shoulders, and wraps Fay up with it, pulling him up in a bridal-carry.

"Don't be so selfish with your toys, Mev. Just because you have a taste for Neivs-"

"Shut up."

Rex puts his hands up in an air of surrender. "Alright. Alright, won't touch the subject. Just saying-"

"Where are his things?"

Rex must realize the conversation is pointless, because he sighs. "In my office. I'll grab them."

Mev carries Fay out to his car, the cool air making the being tremble and mewl, face turning to press into Mev's shirt. "It's alright, Fay," Mev murmurs, lowering him into the seat and buckling him in. "We're gonna get you home."

Rex joins him shortly, Fay's pack of belongings and coat in hand. "Mev, I respect you," He says, like it's a thing to be impressed by. "And I get your obsession with the little whore-he's a great whore, believe me. Just saying, I don't think I've ever seen you get so...so..."

"What? Protective?" He looks to Rex, daring him to say something.

"Was gonna say possessive." Rex grumbles. Mev takes Fay's belongings and stash them safely in the backseat. "You were real pissed on the call I made you when I spotted your little darling wandering the streets with another man. I don't think I've heard that... _emotional_ since-"

"Shut up, Rex. Since when have my business become your concern?"

"Considering how you almost never let me touch the last one, but practically asked me to wreck this one, I gotta say it's a little bit my concern if it concerns my dick."

The air is cold. He sighs, watching his breath fog and float off like a cloud. Inside the vehicle, Fay shifts, face slumped against the window in his sleep.

"None of your concern," He mumbles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wox: lizardy. Big chonky scales. Kinda noodle-y limbs. They don't reproduce or orgasm as most people do, but they can be hella sadists
> 
> Wulvish: think werewolf halfway through transformation. Big and chunky, but not exactly wolf features on the face. and instead of knotting they have a sort of spiked penis
> 
> Marrean: like a human. but instead of hair they have anemone like tentacles on their head and shark-like teeth. impressively long cocks, though rather skinny
> 
> mev: lawful evil twunk  
> ran: chaotic good twunk  
> rex: neutral evil bear
> 
> arlot: fucking terrified twink
> 
> sorry :/


	10. Would Emotional BDSM utilize Whiplash?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know any warnings that might apply here but feel free to correct me. I suppose angst is one of them though. angst and emotional manipulation? also there's fantasizing and stuff. and comfort?
> 
> Apologies in advance

Arlot stays in his room, curled up in his bed and receiving no visitors.

An android comes by now and then with a meal that he might pick at but mostly ignore. Prin comes to his door once and asks if she can come in, but she leaves when he doesn't reply. His curtains are closed and he's not sure how much time passes.

And then one day, there's a knock on his door.

Arlot ignores it in favor of curling up a little tighter, clutching the comforter around him like a shield. He closes his eyes; whoever it is can wait.

And then the door opens.

Immediately, Arlot knows who it is, just looking at the shadow thrown across the room with the light from the hallway. Mev steps in, and he carries with him the scent of wood and sweat and something richer, some kind of stew. There's the clink of cutlery being set down on the dresser, and the bed dips under the weight of another person.

Arlot freezes as Mev inches closer, eyes screwed shut when he feels the man loom over him. Hands on either side of him press into the mattress, caging him in. There's something on his breath, caf and something headier, like alcohol.

"Fay," Mev says quietly. "Look at me."

Something caresses his cheek, and Arlot cringes. Mev sighs and leans closer. Arlot could feel his hair tickle against his temple, and pinpricks raise on his skin from Mev's breath, ghostly warm and damp.

"Fay," Mev breathes, much more softly than he has any right to be. " _Look at me._ Please."

Arlot shakes his head, hair rustling against the pillow. A tear leaks from the corner of his closed eye, dripping down his face in a hot slide. _Please leave._

Something closes on his wrist and moves to jerk him onto his back, and Arlot shrieks, a lance of fear shooting through him and he reacts. His free hand connects with Mev's face in an open-palm slap, knocking the man's face to the side. That does little to deter the human, however, and Mev simply grabs the other wrist and pins Arlot down, the rest of weight on Arlot's legs.

He screams, he shakes, but Mev is heavy and is using his whole weight to hold Arlot, and soon Arlot lets himself fall limp, sobs shaking his chest. Mev just watches silently, waiting for Arlot to tire out.

"Fay," Mev murmurs, leaning in. "It's alright. I'm here."

"Get off me," Arlot hisses, feeling like every fiber in his body was betraying him. The strength he was putting into his arms was getting him nowhere, not even phasing Mev in the slightest, and his muscles are convulsing too much to do anything. "Get _off-_ "

Mev leans in and nuzzles him, face pressed to Arlot's neck, and Arlot freezes when he feels lips trace out the faded bite that Rex had left there. The scent of him was overpowering now, earthy and pungent and stifling.

"It's _alright,_ Fay," Mev whispers against his skin, and it feels wrong. It feels far too intimate, and Arlot feels sick. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you again."

Arlot shakes his head desperately. When Mev releases one of his wrists, he doesn't move, other than to pull it down close to his torso. Mev's free hand touches his face, thumbing away a tear almost tenderly.

"I'm here," Mev repeats. The light from the hallway catches on his glasses, and the man behind them look sad. "I'm here."

* * *

"Where were you?" Prin asks, days later, when Arlot returns to work.

Arlot shrugs. "Vacation," He mumbles, walking alongside her to the window stations. She doesn't press more, for which he is grateful. He's not in the mood to match her energy.

It's strange, being back. Mev had let him off several days, bringing food and urging Arlot to eat, suggesting that he feed Arlot if the starvation period lasted any longer. Arlot wasn't sure if that was a threat or not, but he didn't want to find out. And then one day, Arlot had been alerted by one of the androids: _Return to work._

Fine. It wasn't like he could do anything else.

He's made a resolution to himself to be as complacent as possible around Mev's commands, and draw as little attention as he can; and in the meantime, to avoid the man as much as possible. Which included even thinking of him. The very thought of the man made his ears droop, and skin crawl. The less they crossed paths, the better.

He also tries to avoid thinking about Ran when he takes his position on the stool by the window, the holographic glass shimmering a hypnotic pink. It's a losing battle; the more he tried to ignore thoughts of the human, the more the thoughts kept bumbling in, like a wayward insect that Arlot couldn't shoo out the window. It was irritating, and distracting...and heartbreaking, really.

The image of Ran's hurt face appears before Arlot once more, and he shakes his head, frustrated and ashamed. It would do him good to forget the man while at work. Better to segregate the two things, and all things considering...

All things considering, there was a likely chance that Ran wouldn't want to see him again anyways.

Arlot clenches his fist and presses it tightly to the seat. He was not going to cry right now. He's done that enough. His life was falling into two sections: one, keeping his head low at Glasshouse and avoiding Mev's ire, at any cost; two, thinking ahead. He was still waiting on the reply from the hiring manager, though he wouldn't be able to see it for another few days, until he can go to the upper layers for some proper reception. And once he got hired, with a more consistent salary, he can focus on paying off the indentured debt and getting out of here.

These were the two things to think about. Nothing else.

(Now. If he could actually follow that plan and stop thinking about a certain, ex-playboy fashion disaster...)

* * *

The day passes relatively easily. He takes a few clients, all of whom aren't particularly memorable or necessarily unpleasant in any way; though Arlot did shudder when one licked his neck, and again when one thrust particularly hard while being down his throat. Both times were played off as shivers as pleasure, and there is no incident.

It's not until later, when it's nearing the end of his workday and he's sitting on the stool by the window, mind drifting, do things start going wrong.  
  
The mass of people outside is thinning, thanks to a light drizzle that settles in. Arlot watches them lazily, bored and antsy and waiting for the quiet ping of an alarm to tell him he's done. None of them look like particularly good lays, and some of them don't even look good at all. Everywhere he looks he sees the slick shine of sweat or grease or slime, and the wiry strands of unkempt hair and fur, and the harsh orange of someone's incredibly tacky jacket...  
  
...  
  
"Oh, no, no no nonono," Arlot jumps up from his seat and presses himself to the thin strip of wall that borders the edges of the window, the only little area of privacy he has in this room, and holds his breath as a familiar shadow stops just in front of Arlot's previously vacated stool, and an even more familiar voice asks:  
  
 _"Was there someone just in here?"_  
  
The sound of Ran's voice is enough to make Arlot's chest hurt, and he presses himself all the closer to that little corner, the whole time his thoughts racing. Why was Ran here? Hadn't the man said he hated brothels? And even if that had been a lie, why had he had to stop in front Arlot's station, out of all of them?  
  
 _"Looks occupied, boss."_ A different voice says. A little nasally. _"Come on. There's others that are free."_  
  
 _"I swore, I just saw..._ " Ran trails off. He hasn't moved away from Arlot's window. _"Never mind."_  
  
 _"You gotta let loose, boss,"_ the other voice wheedles back. _"You's been thinkin' bout that dame too much. This'll help ye forget all about'em."_  
  
Arlot feels something in his gut jump and sink at the same time.  
  
 _"Not a 'dame', Sarvs. And I swear, any money you spend here is not going under company expense."_ Ran mutters back. _"When you said you'd help me feel better, I didn't think you were going to drag me out to a whorehouse."_

 _"Eh. Call'it my treat. Come on._ " The voices begin to fade as the distance grows. _"There oughta be more selections over here..."_  
  
Arlot waits until he can hardly hear them before he dares to peek out again, blood pounding loudly in his ears. That had to be Ran. Though he had only caught a glimpse of that stupid workman's jacket, and seen the silhouette of that ridiculously tall frame, it had to be.  
  
He sits down on the stool, suddenly exhausted. He feels like he wants to cry.  
  
Something in front of him chimes with the alert that he's been bought for an hour, and he sniffles and quickly swipes at his eyes, freezing his face into a smile.

* * *

The being that rents him insists on darkness in the room, which is fine by Arlot. The less he sees, the better.

He's pressed onto his back by a pair of hands with calloused palms that run up his sides, leaving dimpled flesh in their wake. Rough lips press against the inside of his thigh, kissing up the crease of his leg until it reaches his slit, mouthing at it through the thin lace of his panties. Arlot gives a moan that's only half-faked, lifting his hips slightly to give the being better access.

Palms press hard against his hips, hard enough to bruise, and Arlot wonders distantly if Ran would be so rough. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it's Ran kneeling between his legs, dampening his underwear with hot breaths and sucking marks into the soft skin of his thigh and belly. Arlot keens when a tongue, hot and moist, travels up the length of his slit and presses just slightly against his stirring cock, and he reaches up to press knuckles into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything too incriminating.

 _Ran,_ he thinks, and the man who was not Ran, but who Arlot wished was, groans and drags one hand up Arlot's side, fondling one of his pectorals like it's a breast and squeezing in what Arlot guesses is an appreciative manner. The other hand stays below, dipping beneath the waistband of his panties and sliding one finger into his hole, finding it already slick.

 _Ran,_ he thinks, more intensely, when his own hands are batted away from his mouth, and his lips are quickly claimed by a kiss. Biting and chapped and tasting vaguely like copper and something crude, but Arlot finds he hardly minds. He opens up for it, opens up for _Ran_ , eyes still closed.

 _R-an,_ he thinks, thoughts stuttering when his panties are pulled down to dangle from one ankle, and a weight settles between his legs. The blunt head of a cock nudges at his folds, sliding once or twice before pressing into his hole. There's hardly a stretch, though Arlot moans anyways at the mere sensation of being somewhat filled. _Ran, Ran, please-_

"Please," He murmurs aloud, and he can hardly recognize his own voice. Pitched high and hoarse. Needy in a way he's never been. "Please- _ah-_ make me feel good."

He bites his tongue before he can say Ran's name aloud. And _Ran_ makes a rasped sound and settles into a fast pace, rocking into Arlot with no preamble. His wrists are pinned on either side of his head, and all he can do is take it, wrapping his legs around a thin waist as soft sounds are urged out of him with every movement. He feels teeth, flat and blocky, press a mark against his shoulder, and that point of contact is enough to make his back arch.

"Ah-ah, please- _Ran-_ " he gasps, thoughtlessly.

Everything freezes.

In the moment where nothing happens, Arlot is faced with the sudden, dousing realization that he had fucked up, dearly - then he wonders if the customer had even heard it, and there's a brief hope that he hadn't, and they could continue on like this didn't happen - and then -

The man shoves off of Arlot with an angry grunt, a litter of incoherent curses falling from his mouth as Arlot tries, desperately, to placate him. And then he's storming from the room, the door sliding open and spilling light from the hallway, as Arlot tries to put himself into a manner of looking presentable again. He grabs his robe and wraps it around him, rushing out of the room with a last plea on his lips.

"Wait-!"

Someone was standing at the end of the hallway. Dark hair. Orange jacket-

_Oh, of all the luck in the stars-_

Ran locks eyes with Arlot for an instant, and Arlot is suddenly aware of - everything, really. The fact that he was dressed in something so scanty it could hardly count, the fact that his hair was still mussed from being railed a few seconds earlier. Even the robe, sliding off one shoulder, baring the bite mark left by the stranger. It's almost comical.

Arlot thinks he's going to cry.

"...Arly?" Ran asks, and that's enough to snap Arlot out of his daze. He practically falls backwards back into the bedroom, slamming a fist on the keypad to shut the door-it hisses closed just as Ran calls: "Wait!"

For a moment, all Arlot can do is stand there, frozen, staring at the door as panic sets root in his chest. Of all the stupid, terrible luck-he presses a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob. There's too much blood in his ears, all he can hear is the roar of his own frantic heartbeat as his chest begins to quake, and suddenly he feels like he can't get enough air.

"...ly. Arly! Are you alright?"

Ran was still there?

_Why was he still here?!_

"Go 'way," Arlot sniffs, and it sounds pathetic, even to him. The door is cool against his forehead, the carpet less so against his knees-and he wonders when he had slumped down. He'd hardly been aware of it.

"...Arly, could you let me in?"

"No."

"Oh." There's a shuffle outside his door. "Okay. Um. I'm just going to stay here then."

Stupid, stubborn human. Arlot shakes his head against the door, and bites out a laugh that might be a sob. "What?"

"I owe you an apology." Ran mumbles, and Arlot wants to scream with how the man sounds so abashed. Like he's the one with something to be ashamed of. "'m sorry if I hurt you...last time. I know I said some...tasteless things, towards your, uh. Profession, and..."

Arlot wants to scream. He wants to laugh. This stupid, caring human, not even understanding what he was doing to Arlot by being here, thinking _he_ was the one who had to give an apology...

He opens the door.

Ran blinks, stepping back a bit in surprise. He's as ridiculous as ever, hunched over like he's trying to hide, like his height would allow that. "Uh-"

"Get in here," Arlot mutters, and pulls Ran in with a hand on his sleeve. Ran follows obediently, with no resistance, letting Arlot pull him into the dark room as the door slides shut once more. If he notices the lingering smell of sex in the air, he doesn't comment on it. "Why do you think I'm hurt by that?"

It takes him a moment to collect what Arlot's referring to. "Because...I said some stuff, right? I called prostitutes lazy, and destitute, and I should've considered-I mean, I hadn't met you before, so I didn't-"

"You think I'm hurt by such a _minor_ comment as that?" Arlot hisses, and it comes out nearly like a snarl. "Do you really think I'm that fragile?"

"I-What?"

"I don't need you to try and-and apologize for such a wayward thing. I know how people think of me. I don't care." He's not sure where the anger comes from, but he's glad for it. The anger keeps him steady, even if tears are spilling out with every word. It keeps him talking, it makes him feel stronger. "I don't _need_ you to try and fix something that doesn't even hurt when-when-"

 _When Mev is already trying to help me with what_ does _hurt,_ He thinks, but doesn't say, because the thought twists into horror before it makes it to his mouth.

Ran doesn't reply. He's quiet, and Arlot can bring himself to look up. _It's over,_ he thinks. He's pushed Ran away, the only good thing he's had in a long time.

Something warm brushes his cheek.

He flinches, and Ran recoils like the touch burned, hesitant. Arlot can see the dark shapes of his arms. spreading like an invitation, and he doesn't need any words to know what it means. He sinks into Ran's arms and buries his face in the folds of a warm, soft linen. His shoulders shake as he tries not to sob, but it's a losing battle.

Ran runs a hand up and down Arlot's spine in a slow rhythm. "Hey. Hey. It's okay," He murmurs, barely audible above the hiccups the Neiv couldn't muffle. "You're okay. You're okay."

Arlot takes a shuddering breath and clutches at the folds of Ran's jacket like it's an anchor. The man smelled like rain.

* * *

He tells Ran as much as he could, in between hiccuping breaths and more soft reassurances. Despite there being a perfectly good bed not a meter away, they're sitting on the carpet, leaned against the door. The only light in the room is orange and leaking from the door crack. He withholds the worst details; it was bad enough watching Ran's face twist into unimaginable horror when he explained that Mev wasn't his boyfriend, and had let Rex take advantage of him, and Arlot hated that.

Ran listens without saying anything, arms still holding Arlot and occasionally rocking back and forth. If he was in a better state, he would've had the good sense to be embarrassed. But as it is, he likes the contact-even though he's nearly sitting on Ran's lap and being coddled like a child, he finds it the nicest source of touch he's had in a long time.

When he finishes, Ran is quiet. He wonders if the man fell asleep, but a glance upwards shows his eyes to be open, in thought. "So you need to pay off the contract," He says quietly.

Arlot nods. His throat aches from crying and talking.

"How much did you say you needed?"

"Hundred-thousand," Arlot mumbles. "I can't ask you to pay it for me."

"I could try," Ran sighs back. "I don't have much in the way of savings, but I'll figure it out."

"No, I can't ask you to do this for me."

"It's fine. You shouldn't have to put a price to your own freedom."

Arlot shakes his head, laughing shakily. "What do you even gain? From doing this? What are you hoping to get?"

Ran doesn't answer at first, and it makes something twist in Arlot's gut. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Ran wasn't different from any other man that came to visit Arlot. Maybe all he saw in Arlot was a service with a higher price tag than most.

"I get to help someone." Ran whispers at last, nose in Arlot's hair. His arms tighten imperceptibly. "I've been a selfish person before. It wasn't for me. Helping you is rewarding enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of my chapter titles make sense. i just name that shit and change it later when someone tells me to
> 
> (Sorry for how long it took to get this one out. In the course of a week i completely forgot how to write smut in case you couldn't tell. also completely forgot how to write angst. and fluff for that matter)
> 
> worldbuilding fun fact: yes this planet is essentially an onion. It's got layers and great big holes that stretch from surface to center. The tram is essentially a spiral that starts on top and ends at the center-or close to center, at least. The lower layers are worse than the surface ones. Issa shrek planet


	11. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey
> 
> How's everyone been
> 
> Staying safe? Staying healthy?
> 
> Contents: chastity belts, orgasm delay/denial, aphrodisiac (mild mention), semi-public, humiliation (mentioned, but not necessarily achieved), submission, voyeurism, masturbation, and timed math tests

"Surely the police-"

"No. Mev has them all in his pocket."

"The law, then, I know a few decent judges planetside-"

"I don't think they'd care enough to hear out the complaints of a lower-level whore."

"Dammit."

Arlot sighs, and lets his head drop, leaning against the side of Ran's neck. They've been sitting like this for hours, now. Arlot thinks he should feel lucky that Ran appeared near the end of his shift, and that Mev hasn't stopped by at all, though not knowing why that was bothered him. Like hearing a stinging bug in the room but not being able to see it. 

He should tell Ran to leave. Should've told him a while ago. But the man's a comfortable weight and Arlot can't bring himself to pull out of his grip, his arms wrapped around Arlot's torso. He should change into something more decent, but that would require getting up, and sitting on the ground by the door was lightyears more comfortable than the bed at the moment.

"What if you ran away?"

Ran mumbles the suggestion quietly. Arlot feels his blood freeze.

_What if?_ The thought felt almost taboo. He had entertained it before, of course. Had entertained it, and what had it led to?

"...I can't."

"Why?"

_Too dangerous. Too risky. Mev knows too much._

"I...just can't." He shakes his head, hair rustling against Ran's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Ran sighs. "I guess that just leaves the job, huh?"

"Yes."

"I'll help you when I can," Ran says earnestly. It makes Arlot wonder how old he is; it's the childlike eagerness that makes Arlot question that, and the optimism. "I'm not good with numbers, but I'm good at saving, and-"

"You don't need to,"

"But-"

"Ran, please. You don't need to." The less people involved with this mess, the better.

* * *

He makes it to the day before the interview relatively unscathed.

He thanks all his lucky stars for it, and hopes for more luck as he makes his way to Mev's office. He hadn't been there in ages, not since the last time Mev had dragged him there forcibly, and standing outside the door sends a familiar shiver up his spine.

_At least I'm dressed warmer this time around,_ he thinks bitterly. He had had the time to clean up before coming here, this time around, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark pants, soft and comfortable and laced around the waist. He tugs at the drawstring before he knocks on the door, holding his breath.

There's only a moment before he hears: "Come in."

He steps inside just as Mev comes off from a holocall, the blue light flickering out just as the door opens. The man looks up, almost bored. "What is it?"

Arlot bites back the shudder that runs down his form, and swallows the bile down his throat so he can say: "I'd like to request to have tomorrow off."

"What for?"

"Do I need a reason?"

Mev's eyes squint, ever so slightly, and Arlot lets his gaze stray to the window. It's nearing evening. The city outside shows a vibrant sunset, streaked with smog. Neon lights light up darkening streets.

He wills himself to hold still when Mev stands from his chair, and walks slowly towards Arlot, standing nearly toe-to-toe. Arlot freezes, feeling a sudden chill race up his back at the proximity. He can't bring himself to look up and meet the man's gaze.

"I'll ask only once more," Mev says, more quietly, more harshly. "What _for,_ Fay?"

Arlot clenches his hand, locked behind his back. "I have a date," He blurts. "Tomorrow."

If Mev is surprised by the answer, Arlot can't tell. He just holds his breath, hoping Mev accepts the answer, and doesn't inquire further. It wasn't a lie, exactly. It was just a generalization of a truth.

"That right." Mev deadpans after a moment. He circles around Arlot, slowly, and Arlot can't help but feel like a piece of prey being stalked. He feels the sudden urge to run, and it takes all his willpower not to bolt for the door. "You found an honest person who actually wants to indulge you? A whore?"

_Yes,_ Arlot thinks. He stays silent, too focused on not crying out when he feels a hand brush against the back of his neck, fingers grabbing onto a stray lock of hair and rubbing it, lovingly. "Or are you just selling your services outside of Glasshouse?" Mev continues, musing.

"And what if I am?" Arlot demands, finally turning to meet Mev's eyes with a glare. "Or is that against my contract?"

Mev raises an eyebrow. Arlot suddenly wonders if he's gone too far, and he holds his breath, feeling his chest about to implode from the fear; and then Mev laughs.

"No, it's not. If you want to sell yourself out outside of work, I'm not going to stop you." Arlot suddenly realizes that this was the first time he saw the man smile in a way that wasn't malicious, and the thought unsettled him. It felt wrong that Mev should look so normal in this moment. "But that's a shit lie, Fay, and you know it. You're too pure to do that kinda shit out of your own volition."

"...Pure?"

"Mhm." Instead of elaborating further, Mev takes hold of Arlot's chin, tilting his face up, inspecting him curiously. "You found a legitimate date, haven't you? A normal one?"

Arlot jerks his face back, out of Mev's grip. "What's it to you?" He spits, but he feels uneasy. Mev didn't look angry. He looked almost content - no. Contemplative. That was more disconcerting than if he was just angry.

"Oh, nothing. But you know that whoever it is isn't going to take you seriously?" Mev smiles. "You'd just be a convenient toy for them. A willing one. Some people don't like the aesthetics that brothels often have, you know, so it's far much easier to test the wares off the site. After all, a whore is a whore, regardless of whether you took it out to dinner first or not."

"Not all people are like that." Arlot snaps.

"Do you believe that? You're smarter than that, come on now. I've seen it happen plenty of times. Some whore employed here takes a leave of absence because they've found their 'true love', or whatever, and a week later they come back broken-hearted to find out they were just a side piece. A whim."

"He's not like that!"

"So it's a 'he?'" Mev asks, and Arlot shuts his mouth and immediately regrets saying anything. "Whatever. You can have tomorrow off. Go mess around as much as you like, but rest assured, chances are he'll fuck you after the first date and leave."

He waves his hand as a sort of dismissal, and Arlot doesn't hesitate to seize on it, brushing past him in direction of the door. Before he exits, he turns, and calls:

"He wouldn't. Fuck me on the first date, I mean. He's better than that, and he's better than you."

It's a cheap shot. Mev actually looks surprised, though Arlot couldn't be sure, as the door shuts and he sprints for the elevator, eager to be as far as he can from that little office room before Mev decided to react.

* * *

He's half-jittered with nerves by morning, having gotten barely enough sleep the night before. He was sure he was going to be shaken awake at any moment, with Mev leaning over him, but it never happened. He told himself to calm down and focus.

It was the day of the interview.

When the tinny little alarm rings, he's awake instantly, sliding out of bed. He has clothes laid out the day before, nothing business suitable unfortunately, but he had a pair of dark, straight pants and borrowed a white button-down blouse from Prin, which he had to pin closed near the collar, as it was designed to be worn slightly open chested. Simple shoes with no heels (for which he is relieved). He's unsure as to what to bring with him, other than his wrist projector, but it feels like poor planning to show up empty-handed. 

He's mulling it over when the door opens, and he only needs to glance once to know that it's Mev. He freezes immediately, caught in headlights, unsure whether to face the man head-on to keep looking away.

"Relax," Mev says. "I'm not going to have anyone jump you while you're on your...date. I'm just here to wish you luck."

Lies, as ever. Arlot glares at him. "Could you turn around?"

Mev doesn't. It's about what he expected. Arlot grabs the blouse from where it's been laid out on the bed, and tucks his arms inside first, pulling it over his head and his nightshirt in one swift motion. He works his nightshirt from his torso only slightly awkwardly, but it's worth not having to expose anything.

The pants are a different matter, though.

"Let me help with that."

Before Arlot could react, hands grip him by the hips, fingers running under the waistband of his pajama pants. They're shucked down in one motion, and Arlot squeaks, immediately moving to cover himself. Something dangles in front of him, and he takes a moment to realize that Mev is holding something in front of his face. A belt of dark leather, attached perpendicular to another. It looks like some sort of harness, until Arlot notices two very...identifiable protrusions on of the loops.

"This," Mev says, as he wraps the belt around Arlot's waist. "Is a chastity belt. Since you weren't planning on fucking anyone today, I thought this might be...a good accessory to your little look."

He pushes the blunt tip of one of the protrusions to Arlot's hole, the thing already slicked to make it easy, and Arlot gasps at the coolness of it and squirms. It's not very long, but it's wide enough to plug him snugly, and it's ridged enough to grind against Arlot's walls when he clenches around it.

"D-don't," He protests weakly. He shoves at Mev's hands, but the man doesn't budge. "Sir, I can't-"

"Sure you can." Mev hums, and he presses a hand between Arlot's shoulder blades and bends him over the bed, face pressed to the sheets. Like the first one, the second plug is already slick when it presses between his cheeks. Unlike the first one, the plug is a little thicker at the base, and ribbed with little bumps that catch on Arlot's rim as Mev pushes it into his anus. When Arlot tries to shy away, Mev's hand reaches up to tighten dangerously, briefly, against the back of his neck, so he stays still and holds his breath as Mev sheathes the thing inside him.

Mev locks the loops together, tightening them around his waist. The lock chimes, glowing red as it clicks together. "You're going to wear this all day. I'll take it off when you come back and ask nicely, but it's currently tied to my biomarker. Meaning I'm the only one who can unlock it." Arlot tugs at the waistband of the thing, and finds it as unmovable as metal. He may as well tried to pull off his own arm, and he feels his blood run colder. Mev presses a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. "It shouldn't be a problem, I hope?"

Arlot laughs a little hysterically. His legs shake. "W-what if I need to use the bathroom?"

"You better hope you can hold it." He pats lovingly at Arlot's crotch, thumbing the lock briefly before pulling away. "Enjoy your date, sweetheart. Take your time."

Arlot stays where he is, waiting for the hiss of the door to indicate that Mev has left, when he lets himself collapse with his forehead leaning against the bed, legs splayed as he takes deep shuddering breaths. The belt is a weight between his legs, and each slight movement presses either plug in deeper, but not by much. He reaches down at presses his fingertips a bare millimeter beneath the waistband, trying to comprehend it all.

_The bastard,_ he thinks vehemently. He shakes his head. This was fine. This was just another stupid part in Mev's game, and he could play it. He just had to make it out of this ordeal, and it'd be fine.

He sniffs. There was no time to dwell on it, He was going to be late.

* * *

As promised, Ran waits for him at the station, face splitting into a cheery grin as he sees Arlot approach. "Arly!"

Arlot just nods in reply, face flushed. He had walked as fast as he could; running proved to be impossible with this contraption strapped to him. It bounced with every step he took, making maddening little thrusts into him. Not deep enough to satisfy anything, only just deep enough to be noticeable, despite how much he tries to ignore it.

"You ready? Got everything?" Ran scans him, and Arlot begs to whatever deities exists that he does not notice anything off. "Good. Let's go."

It's early enough that there are a few seats still open, but that turns out to be a mixed blessing when every slight bump and shift of the train sends vibrations that ratchet up his spine, and he locks his legs together and sits as still and as rigid as he can. Ran casts him a concerned glance.

"Nervous?"

Arlot just nods, not trusting his words.

By the time they make it off the train and walk the distance to the building, Arlot has to do his best to keep his thighs from shaking. Whatever Mev used to lube the plugs must have heightened his sensitivity, because there was no other way to explain how every slight movement was causing him to be like this. Already feeling something drip down his leg in his pants and fighting the urge to grind against something solid, if only for some temporary relief. He stumbles on a crack in the pavement, falls against Ran, and bites his lip on a thin moan.

"Easy, easy." Ran takes him by the elbows and helps him upright, and some distinctly primal and stupid part of Arlot's brain supplies how the man's hands were big, big enough to circle his arms entirely, maybe big enough to encircle his waist; and his mouth goes dry and his face goes hot at the idea. "You alright there Arly? You look a little off."

"M'fine." He mumbles. _Get up,_ he screams inwardly, but he stays leaning into Ran's grip, unwilling to lose that sense of contact.

"Are you sure?" Ran presses the back of his hand to Arlot's forehead, and Arlot has to voluntarily fight the urge to grab his wrist and bury his face in that soft and calloused palm. "I think you're running a little warm."

"I'm not. I-Neivs just run warmer than most."

"Really?"

Arlot nods. "I'm fine, really. Please, Ran, I'm just a little nervous. That's all."

"We can reschedule it if you want. You don't have-"

And Arlot shakes his head, cutting him off. "No, no, it's fine. I can do this." The idea of returning back to Glasshouse and Mev's gloating face was enough of an incentive for Arlot to stand up straight. "I'll be okay, I promise."

Ran doesn't look convinced, but he nods. "Alright. Come on, let's go in."

The inside of the building is pretty decadent, but Arlot hardly notices. He stays quiet all throughout the process, as the receptionist hands him a guest pass and Ran leads him to the elevators, and then down the carpeted halls, to a large room with a window stretching floor to ceiling, providing an expansive view of the city. There are a few chairs lining the walls, some of them already occupied by other beings, all also with guest name tags hanging somewhere off their torsos.

Against the other wall is a set of heavy looking doors, sleek and elegant. As Arlot watches, they slide open, and a mechanical voice calls out: "Amie, Roland." And one of those sitting stands up and walks through.

Ran's hand lands gently on his shoulder. "You'll be alright?" He murmurs, close by Arlot's ear. Warm and a little damp and electrifying against the sensitive shell.

Arlot represses a shiver. "Yeah," He breathes back. "I'll be okay."

"Good." Ran pats his shoulder lightly. "I gotta go now. But I'll see you after the interview, alright?"

It something to look forward to. Arlot forces a smile. "Alright."

He watches Ran leave, hands clasped tightly in his lap. This was fine. He just had to wait, as the other interviewees were, all silent and minding their own business. He'd taken a seat directly opposite the heavy doors, and he watched it as the minutes ticked past, watching Amie, Roland leave and Bretruth, Trusk enter.

He's not aware that he's moving until a few moments later, hips rolling ever so slightly against the seat, trying to build some friction through the unyielding leather of the belt. Neither plug reached deep enough for him to get anything satisfying out of it, no matter how fast he fucked himself against them. He may as well have been throwing fuel at an enclosed fire. He shifts again, trying to get comfortable, and stifles a whine when the plugs sink out of him slightly, only to press upwards again as he settles.

A few of the other people were staring. He flushes and averts his gaze, locking his hands against his knees and resolving not to move or even think about anything that was happening below his waist. It's much harder than he hoped. Like an insatiable itch demanding to be scratched.

He glances up at the clock, and holds back another groan when he sees that only a few minutes had passed.

* * *

Partway through the calling for 'Dahnner, Xyvl-1,' one of the plugs jump to life, and Arlot almost screams.

He manages to subdue it enough, clamping a hand over his mouth as a whispery whimper left him, clenching his other hand against the seat as the plug in his pussy continued to vibrate dully, making his head swim with arousal. He knows he's probably getting wetter, and he hopes it's not noticeable, as he presses his legs together and feels his thighs grow damp. He's distantly aware of eyes watching him, and he stares straight ahead, determined to ignore them all.

This had to be another one of Mev's cruel tricks. The vibrations ebb down to nothing, and then the plug in his ass begins to buzz, and he bloodies his lip as he bites down on another moan. He rocks backwards on his hips, trying to pull the sensations deeper, to no avail. It pulses just on the edge of his prostate, and if he wriggles his hips just a little bit down-

The vibrations die. He could cry.

Arlot forces himself to take normal breaths, trying to push himself into some semblance of normality. Planting his feet firmly against the carpeted floor and trying to act like he hadn't just been trying to get off in the middle of an office building. He catches the curious eye of one of the other interviewees, sitting near the door, and looks away hurriedly.

_I must be ruined,_ he thinks. _Mev must have ruined me._ There was no other explanation for why he would even be aroused by this perverted act, and even actively trying to get off on it. The thought bites at him, sinking teeth into his chest and pulling like a leaden weight.

Was there even a point in going back home when he was already like this?

Was there even a point in being _here,_ trying to get a normal job?

A tremor runs through one of the plugs, and he grits his teeth, blinking past the tears in his eyes as he resolutely attempts to ignore it.

* * *

"Ennien, Arlottive."

By the time his name is called, he feels half-delirious with arousal, and he stumbles a little bit as he stands. He's one of the last remaining, and as he walks to the door, he can feel them watching his every move, and it takes all his concentration not to jump when the plugs vibrate suddenly, in unison. They had picked up an intermittent pattern in doing that, and Arlot's back hurt from being stuck ramrod straight, for fear of twitching.

The board of interviewers sit behind a long, elegant table, all five of them. Before the table is a single chair, and a desk, much like the kind used by schoolchildren. As Arlot sits down, he suddenly feels incredibly small.

The board is comprised of three humans, of varying ages, and two other humanoid beings. Arlot doesn't recognize either, but one looks bored and half-asleep, and other stares down at Arlot with cold scrutiny in yellow eyes, and Arlot suddenly feels very small.

"Arlottive Ennien," One of the humans drone. "Preferred name: Arlot. Is that right?"

"Yes." He replies, and he's proud of how his voice doesn't break, as the plug in his ass jerks suddenly.

"You completed a Stage Five numerics course exam, correct?"

"Yes."

"What is your education history?" Asks the bored one.

"I-" Arlot hesitates. "I didn't attend any formal professional schooling after primary."

"And yet you scored well on the Stage Five exam?"

"Yes."

A few of them exchange impressed looks. The one with the cold stare even raises an eyebrow. Arlot feels a warm sense of pride.

"Do you have any prior experience in accounting?"

"I managed finances for two crop seasons for my family's business."

"Is there any official record for that work?"

"...No." It was just family work that he'd done because it was better than sitting under the hot sun in a harvester.

Looks were exchanged again, though less impressed. Arlot shifts in his seat; one of the plugs sits uncomfortably, lodged awkwardly and pressing against his rim.

"So," Drawls the yellow-eyed one. "You have no formal experience. You have no formal schooling. You were previously a farmer. And you expect to work here?"

Arlot ducks his head. His ego shrivels under the blunt words. "I-I-"

"Nreld. Don't be so rude," Scolds one of the humans.

"I am being honest. All he has to go on is an impressive test score and a recommendation, from _Ran Doma,_ no less." Nreld sneers. Something in Arlot's gut twists at how Nreld said Ran's name. "These are not exactly stellar reflections of what we are looking for."

"Even so, respect goes both ways. That is a reflection of what we represent," chides one of the older humans, a matronly-looking woman, before turning back to Arlot. "Ennien."

"Y-yes?"

"What is your greatest ability, in regards to new working environments."

It's hard to think, and Arlot feels panic's icy fingers reaching into his back. The plugs are no help. "I-I believe my greatest strength is...adapting. Learning quickly," He says, the words bitterly ironic. "I'm very good at learning what to do - and what not to do - in a new job. Even if I've never done that sort of work before."

"Why do you think you should work for this company?"

"I-mph-" The plug in his cunt buzzes, and he barely manages to stop the moan that slips from his mouth. It was an unrelenting pressure against sensitive nerves. He felt like his brain would leak out his ears, being drummed into mush as it was. "I-could you-repeat that?"

"This is pointless," Nreld says again, loudly.

"Hush," replies the woman. She fixates Arlot with a calm stare, and Arlot fights to hold still. "I say we give him a test. Let him demonstrate how capable he is at learning quickly. Nreld, give him a calculating pad."

A thin glass tablet is set in front of him, glowing with an empty table on one side and a series of numbers and words on the other. Arlot feels his hands curl into fists as he looks at them, the dull haze of panic in his head buzzing louder.

"Your task is to calculate the necessary expenditure of each product in order to maximize overall profit. You challenge is to finish as many as you can within ten minutes," The woman continues. "A timer will begin when you are ready. Get as far as you can."

"Can I-" Arlot clears his throat. "Can I have a writing pad?"

"There's one beneath your desk."

Bending over for it is a chore, and he can feel his knees knock together as he does. He thanks the stars for backhanded blessings; the leather strap of the belt kept his cock pressed into his slit, despite how he feels it erect and straining. He straightens up slowly, reads through the list on the calculating pad. A directory of various items and their respective costs. He spies "laborer-manager" and wonders if that's Ran.

"Ready?"

He nods, blinking rapidly.

"Begin."

It's a bad start. He fumbles on a few numbers and then takes a few seconds longer trying to figure out how to change his answer. The plugs are no help, and he can't help the quiet, worried whine that leaves his mouth, hoping desperately that no one heard. He shakes his head, trying to shove his thoughts back into order.

_Focus,_ he screams inwardly. _You know this. You did this all the time back home. It's just seed shipments and harvesters, except it's ship fuel and laborers._ His fingers of his left hand click rapidly against the glass surface, as his right hand scribbles equations he barely sees on the writing pad. He just needs to finish this and get out of here; whether or not he got the job wasn't even a priority. All that mattered was he escaped with his dignity, no matter how damaged it was.

Time seems to slip like sand in a pit. All Arlot could see and think was a blur of numbers, and maybe that was a good thing. He couldn't tell if the vibrators were still moving, or if they had mercifully stopped.

"Five seconds," Someone says.

His hand slipped from the tablet's surface as he reached the end of the list, and he blinks, scrolling up at his previous answers, trying to scan for anything with blind eyes.

"Time."

He freezes. He glances up and jumps when he sees Nreld standing before him, swiping the calculating pad from his desk and scrolling through it with a derisive sneer, before handing it to the other judges.

"You may go," He says. "We'll contact you in the near future with our decision."

Arlot doesn't need telling twice. He jerks out of his seat, give a shakily mumbled 'thank you' to the interviewers, and practically runs from the room.

* * *

He's thankful that his legs don't give out until he's made it aboard the train, wedged into a seat near a window and with chest aching. 

He's half slumped there from exhaustion, with hardly the energy to close his splayed thighs when he feels the plugs pulse dully in unison, leaning against the window glass and moaning softly, mouth half-open. His hips twitch upwards, chasing a pressure that doesn't exist.

_I'm gonna get in trouble,_ he thinks hazily. Public indecency, or something. He finds he hardly cares, as the vibrations crescendo and he gasps, biting his knuckles and curling his back, legs kicking against the floor. If other people were watching, he didn't notice; he was diverting just enough attention to listening for the seventh chime for his stop.

He's not even sure how he makes it back to Glasshouse, half-running, half-stumbling through the streets and dodging people. He leans heavily against the back door as he fumbles to punch in the access code, falling through into the cool, perfumed hallways as it opens and blinking in the rush of colored lights. Muscle memory carries him in the direction of his room, and he's about to pull out his key before it slides open on its own.

Mev is inside, sitting on his bed. Regarding Arlot coolly, eyes raking over his form. "How was your date?"

Arlot just glares back. He can imagine how he must look; disheveled, flushed, sick with arousal and frustration. Mev smirks back. "Well?"

Arlot walks towards him as steadily as he can.

And falls to his knees.

It must surprise Mev as well, because he jumps when Arlot leans his cheek against Mev's thigh with a sigh, rubbing his fevered skin against cool cloth. When Arlot looks up through half-lidded eyes, Mev is staring back, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Please," Arlot pants with a half-open mouth. His legs are splayed under him in order to accommodate his hand, palming desperately as his crotch. "Mev, sir, _please._ "

He feels sick. He feels scummy and filthy and exactly like the thing Mev had degraded him to, but he doesn't care. All that matters is the warmth, the tight coil of heat that he couldn't seem to wind tight enough to release and couldn't seem to let loose enough to forget. He noses at the junction of Mev's knee, drops his shoulders and tilts his chin to bare his neck, and looks up again.

Mev swallows jerkily, pupils blown behind slipping glasses, and he runs a hand down Arlot's cheek, thumb pulling at his bottom lip. Arlot leans into the touch, helpless - his hands are cool, his palms soft like he'd never done a day's labor in his life - and makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a whimper. It was nothing like Ran.

"Up," Mev says in a strained voice, and then Arlot's getting pulled up, pushed down onto his back against the bed as Mev shoves up his shirt hard enough to break a few threads and begins mouthing at his chest with all the ferocity and insistence of an animal, teeth leaving hot points of pressure against his sternum, his collarbone, the sensitive areola of his nipples. Fingers tug at his waistband, pulling it down to his knees to reveal the infernal belt around his hips. Arlot shudders and mewls; the touch was a lot, soothing and electrifying all at once, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He hears the click of the lock coming undone, and feels Mev tug the plugs out of him with some resistance. Like his body didn't want to give them up, regardless of how they'd been torturing him, and Arlot gives a full-bodied shiver when they're released, feeling cool air against his groin and legs. He shivers again when he feels two thin fingers press into him, feeling a wave of nausea at the memory of the last time he had been in this position.

Not that his traitorous body would know anything about that, though. His back twinges with how fast his hips move up towards Mev's hand, desperate for some relief. Mev's other hand grips him by the waist and presses him back down to the bed, as he kisses down his ribs, his abdomen, and the junction of his inner thigh, before-

Arlot sobs in relief when he feels a warm breath against his folds, and then a tongue pressing into his slit, sliding against his cock and dragging slowly across the head, all warm and wet and utterly overwhelming after hours of no contact. His hands fly down to grab at Mev's hair, to press him down, and he hears a low growl, a _command,_ "Keep your hands above your head," and he shivers and complies. Hands clenched tight in the sheets as Mev licks up again, slowly working him open with his hand and his tongue.

He sobs again when Mev pulls away, leaving him cold where their bodies had touched. He makes an aborted grab and flinches away just as quick when Mev grabs him by the collar and drags him upright, hand moving to fist in his hair. He stands between Arlot's legs, other hand peeling away Arlot's trousers before resting on the inside of a thigh, holding him open.

"I want to see you touch yourself," he says lowly, and Arlot shivers and complies, reaching down to stroke himself with a light grip until Mev snaps: "No, not like that."

The hand in his hair pulls painfully tight, snapping his head back and forcing Arlot to look at the man before him. "I want to see you open that slutty hole up," he warns. "Like the _whore_ that you are."

"Sir..."

" _Fay."_

Arlot spreads his folds with a trembling hand, thrusting experimentally with two slender fingers. Thankfully there was no need for lube, not in his current state. He closes his eyes with a sigh, moving his hips in time to his hand, scissoring in and out in just the way to make his eyes roll.

He's done this before. Shamefully, back on the farm, buried under the covers and thinking shameful thoughts, trying to make it as quick and clinical as he could manage. Trying to be as quiet as he could, so as to avoid waking either of his older brothers, who constantly griped about having to wake up earlier than Arlot for their work. Curling in on himself when he was done, trying to ignore the wetness running down his leg.

Having someone watch made it...different. He feels exposed. _Raw._ Being peeled apart by the eyes of a man who holds his head back like an animal about to be slaughtered, and the threat of that makes Arlot shudder with something that's...not quite all disgust.

And Mev doesn't stop talking. "Did you think about doing this? Showing yourself off like this to that little date of yours?" The hand in his hair pulls a little tighter, and Arlot whimpers when he feel's Mev's hot breath against his face, damp and close and promising teeth. "Letting him know how much of a filthy little slut you are? Were you hoping he'd fuck you after?"

He shakes his head weakly, but that was a lie. He remembers how he'd clung to Ran, half-delirious with lust. Going crazy with every small touch. _Filthy little slut,_ something echoes in his head, and shame sinks into his gut, not enough to combat the arousal.

"Open your eyes. Look at me." Mev demands. Arlot complies, though he can't discern anything at first through the film of tears. Mev stares back down, face twisted into something unreadable. A thin frown. Furrowed brows. Arlot shudders and adds another finger, burying them up to the last knuckle with a gasp. His cock bobs pathetically, poking out of his slit, obscene and ignored.

" _Mev,_ " He sighs, and Mev's frown furrows deeper. The hand that had been on his hip palms over his stomach, before wrapping tightly around his cock. Lips meet his own, cruelly ironic in how tender it is.

"Come for me," Mev murmurs against his mouth before biting down, savagely, on Arlot's bottom lip, and Arlot is helpless to do anything but obey.

* * *

He lays on the bed, eagle-spread and naked save for his socks, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind as he watches Mev with glassy eyes.

The human picks up the cursed belt, gathers up the filthy clothes, all without saying a word. He leaves silently, leaving just Arlot, alone and shivering on the covers. Tasting blood in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn except everything's on fire and incredibly horny and the only thing stopping Ran from actually getting it is Arlot's emotional trauma...and Mev
> 
> Anyways sorry for the (extremely!) late update. Things /looks out window, at all the corrupt governing and horrible events/ have been happening. I rewrote this five times before I got kinda satisfied with it

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I don't know I guess I just have a kink for blue people getting fucked? Anyways.
> 
> Leave a comment if this is your thing and maybe a suggestion for you wanna see happen to Arlot next
> 
> my tumblr is @filthmongerwrites


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